


Good Idea At The Time

by Background_Foxe



Series: The Aziraphale Commandments [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Branding, Dom/sub, Flogging, General bickering, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Nudity, Sub Crowley, dom aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Having roped in Aziraphale into helping him complete one of his more unusual demonic tasks at an Erotic Party, Crowley is taken aback by how easily the angel adapts to what should have been a most unusual experience.





	1. The Preparation

Promises. Bargains. Deals. Crowley never really placed much on them if he was honest with himself, normally a method to tip someone over into his line of thinking, but occasionally they were well worth the rubbish they were written on. Take tonight, for example. A promise was the only reason they were currently entombed in Aziraphale’s library, the angel pouring over a leaflet while Crowley sprawled over a nearby wingback chair like a particularly large drunken spider as he watched the other being go through his usual routine.

“So?” the question was drawled out lazily but with genuine curiosity behind it. Crowley was always curious, which seemed a good way to approach life if you didn’t want to be destroyed through disappointment or horror. Still, this was a curious moment if ever he’d seen it. On one side was honour and truth and keeping your word, all those good shiny things that made Aziraphale’s eyes twinkle and his shoes shine and his toes skip, and on the other was .. well, on the other was the leaflet, and even Crowley had needed to spend a bit of time simply understanding what the bloody hell the thing was on about.

A little look aimed itself at him before Aziraphale frowned back at the leaflet, frowned a little more and then had to locate a magnifying glass partly so he could frown in close up.

Crowley chuckled softly to himself and allowed his head to rest back against the padded back of the chair, closing his eyes as his leg swung slowly like a particularly odd organic pendulum. 

“You going to talk at any point or are we going to break out the charades? Because I really hate miming, it always comes out inappropriate and then _I_ get the blame.”

A distinct lack of answer was forthcoming, but at least the silence was still companionable rather than the normal slightly disapproving undercurrent that Aziraphale could produce whenever Crowley ventured into things that were not Heaven Approved (™). Yeah, he could cope with that, and in fairness Crowley half expected the angel to regretfully inform him that he had something else on for that date, so very sorry, blah blah blah. But if you didn’t ask, you never got, and Aziraphale genuinely did owe him a favour for the whole gravestone shinanigens that had ended up with a few awkward questions, a ghost sent back to limbo, and several splinters in very odd places. 

The silence lengthened a little, which to be fair seemed the most appropriate thing to do under the circumstances. Finally Aziraphale made a soft noise at the back of his throat, gave Crowley a small, faintly apologetic look, and then looked back at the leaflet again.

“Well.” the angel said.

And then God said let there be more bloody silence. No, this was not the great speech that Crowley had been hoping for, but he begrudgingly admitted that even Shakespeare had to start somewhere. The demon cracked his eyes open a sliver and turned his head, raising an eyebrow just in case this might convince the angel to continue. It didn’t. Clearly the eyebrow was slipping.

“Is that a ‘yes’ well, or a ‘no’ well?” he asked finally. “Because if you’re not interested then I’ll go back to the drawing board-,”

“No! No, no…. no.” Aziraphale looked startled and then almost offended. “I’m merely gathering my bearings. Of _course_ I’d be delighted to help you with your...uh…,” a quick look back at the leaflet. “... what was it again?”

“Delighted, huh?” Well, that was a good, if inaccurate, start. The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifted a little higher in amusement as he gazed thoughtfully back at the angel. Yeah, that wasn’t exactly a delighted expression on the other being’s face. Wasn’t upset at least, more a light version of uncertain as though Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure Crowley wasn’t playing some sort of joke. 

“Well, you’ve seen the leaflet. My target’s going to be at this event and this is the best time to get the work done and be on our merry way.” Crowley eyed him thoughtfully, and his voice grew sweeter. “You...uh, know what type of event it is ... right?”

A faintly flustered look entered Aziraphale’s expression where it stuck like gum on a shoe. Crowley tried not to smirk too much, but bloody hell, it was hard.

“Well, yes.” Pause, the angel’s voice dropping to an apologetic tone. “Although I’m afraid I might not know the right mannerisms to perform.”

Mannerisms? Pft. A shrug greeted this comment and Crowley readjusted himself on the chair, more than happy to accept the lack of correct etiquette or mannerisms or social niceties in exchange for the night.

“Ah, it’s pretty easy.” he drawled. “It’s not like some sort of dance where everyone has to know what their right foot is doing at the same time. All you need is to know enough about the topic and be able to talk, and we both know you’re a king at research. Seriously, no worries. I’ll make you look good and we’ll get access to our targets and have it all done and dusted by .. what, midnight? All’s good.”

The smile continued happily but his voice was soft and reasonable. No reason to worry the angel too much. However Aziraphale shot him another look, this type leaning toward the reproachful side of the coin. For a moment Crowley had an image that the angel would tell him very firmly that he needed to eat all his dinner before he could have his dessert.

“I can’t research something I haven’t been given the full details to. This,” a little gesture toward the leaflet. “Doesn’t really give much information, it’s full of naughty implications and suspicious language and possible indecent imagery and **DARK GOTHIC LETTERING** which is a little excessive if you ask my opinion. In fact, it’s very much like you in many ways.”

“I’ll accept the indecent imagery, but I’m not really full of **DARK GOTHIC LETTERING**. Saying that, I do like the voice.”

“Do you? Oh, thank you, I have been practising,” Aziraphale looked pleased, which he was. Crowley chuckled to himself and stretched again lazily. Okay. To the truth of the matter and hope the angel didn’t collapse into a puddle on the floor as a result.

“So, this is a social event for a particular brand of sexual deviants.” he tossed it out as casually as you could with social events of that nature and pretended it was just like going out to the library but with an alternative dress code. 

“Oh, I say.” Aziraphale’s pleasure turned into perplexion before he looked down at his carefully maintained off-white suit critically. “I’m not sure I have the outfit for sexual deviancy.” 

Well, at least the angel hadn’t fainted and that had to be a good thing. Crowley shrugged carelessly.

“Can’t see why not. Sexual deviancy can be done in pretty much anything you fancy, from a dinner jacket to casual to a furry full length dog suit.” The demon paused as he thought about that. “To be honest, it’s hard getting away from the sexual deviancy in the full length dog suit, but that depends on the event. And this isn’t a dog suit one, before you give me that look. This one you just have to look smart - which you do - be authoritative and know what you’re doing.” 

“But I _don’t_ know what I’m doing.” Aziraphale felt this was an important enough fact for a minor protest. There was another ‘pft’ expression from Crowley, who had been practising his pfts for at least five thousand years now and felt he was getting pretty good at them.

“Of course you do. It’s just an extreme form of politeness. Yes sir, no sir, can I lick your ‘insert body part here’ sir.” A hand waved the problem away. “And a bit of leather and latex and collars and -,”

The confusion suddenly cleared from the angel’s expression to be replaced with one almost approaching relief. “Oh, a form of sadomasicism, dominance or submission? Oh, _that_ I can do.”

And for a moment the world paused just to make sure it had heard correctly. Crowley opened his mouth but found that his words had momentarily disappeared for a metaphorical cigarette. Finally they returned, albeit taken aback. “Uh. Really?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale’s confidence was clearly returning, a happy small smile on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels as though reciting a nursery rhyme. “ A set of behaviors, customs and rituals relating to the giving and accepting of control of one individual over another in an erotic or lifestyle context, with the option of physical activities such as restraint, discipline and so forth. Its form has been recorded for many hundreds of years in various guises, you know.”

“Uh. Yeah. My side were pretty good in encouraging it.” Crowley eyed him carefully in the manner of one who wasn’t entirely sure whether the buzzing yellow thing in front of him was harmless or a wasp. “And you can .. _do_ that, can you?”

Aziraphale’s tone was faintly reproachful, a craftsman after the appropriate requirements. “Well, you will have to be a little more specific on what type of thing you’re after.” 

“Well, obviously,” Crowley wasn’t sure he liked this current change of events. Aziraphale’s charm was often intermixed with being the sweet and slightly oblivious one, the one who thought well of people and did the ‘done thing’ and felt that everything would be so much better if people were generally nice. Erotic rituals of any description didn’t often venture forth into this type of domain, and certainly not unless it stopped to clean its shoes before it did so. 

The demon cleared his throat and readjusted his position once again in the long suffering chair, lifting his chin up as though it might give him an edge in the bizarre new world of a dominant Aziraphale. Well, this was a turn up for the first edition, leather covered books. Crowley had been half expecting needing to bring in diagrams, possibly with Slot A and Tab B, but then heaven always did manage to find new ways to be sneakier than expected. Why did they believe that Aziraphale’s side were the good ones again? Probably habit. It usually was.

A cheerful, utterly innocent expression looked back at Crowley, unaware of the rapidness of the demon’s thoughts. “And who is who?”

“Sorry?” Crowley was struggling to keep up with the conversation.

“Are you dominant or am I? Oh, this will be fun! Theatre!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together in what was almost a gleeful manner. Crowley blinked. Well, that was definitely one way to put it. There were many, many other ways to put it, and most of those involved a little more grr, but who was he to argue. If it got them their task done then that was another thing off his demonic ‘To Do’ list and meant he could spend significantly more time doing better things.

“Considering my guy is on the bottom, I’m planning on you being the one in the suit. Gives me more ability to have a word in his ear without other people getting upset or territorial,” he replied carefully, testing the waters as he went and keeping an eye out for any further sea monsters that might make an appearance. Aziraphale nodded seriously. 

“Mmm, I can see that. Well, I’m sure I have something in the wardrobe that might fit.”

“You do?” Crowley’s eyebrow rose, startled, before he managed to wrestle both it and his voice under control. “I mean, excellent, good, perfect, of course you do.” He managed to remain silent for all of ten seconds before his curiosity got the better of him. “So… _how_ exactly do you know about this, exactly? I didn’t think it was your cup of tea.”

“There’s many different types of tea in this world.” 

“How annoyingly philosophical of you.” Crowley drawled. “And how did this particular brand of leaf end up in your cup?”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, before giving a light chuckle and a gentle shake of the head as though Crowley was an adorable scamp who had just performed a trick. 

“Oh, my dear Crowley, I’m more a .. I guess, _sightseer_.” the angel rubbed his chin thoughtfully and frowned as he tried to work out the best way to describe it. “ There’s been a few situations where I’ve had to witness and discuss the more elaborate methods of physical courtship, and of course there’s the books.”

“The books.” Crowley repeated.

“ Why, yes. First editions, of course, some with pictograms, others a little on the beaten up side but to be fair that’s somewhat appropriate. I think I have one over here,” there was a pause dedicated to rooting around in a bookshelf before Aziraphale returned triumphant clutching a leather bound book with gold lettering on the spine and a slightly forlorn look to it. “See here, page 135. Is that roughly what you had in mind?”

Crowley gingerly flicked to page 135 and stared at the black and white etching in silence.

“Little harsh, wouldn’t you say?” he said finally and with an understatement. “And why is this page stiffer than the others? Has it had some sort of fluid on it?”

“Oh, we don’t ask that type of question.”

“Why aren’t we asking that type of question? It seems a perfectly good question to ask.” he glanced at Aziraphale and rolled his eyes at the meaningful expression coming the other way. “Politeness? Oh, for hell’s sake..,” 

He began to flick through the other pages and casually glance at the images. Well, it was certainly a variety, most of which would probably require some specialist clothing or at the very least a plastic sheet underneath. Crowley paused to turn the book at an angle to examine a picture closer, before looking up again.

“Okay, well, at least you’re enthusiastic which is … well, mildly disturbing but good for practical purposes. I don’t need page 135, and I don’t need 240, I have no idea what’s happening in 143, and I definitely, definitely don’t want page 15 which would probably result in my hip being dislocated. Let’s stick to impressions, okay? You go in style and a suit and an air of authority, and I’ll be your loyal companion who happens to be mostly nude and briefly on the end of a chain and responds to your commands.”

“Mm. Seems reasonable. We have, after all, had plenty of practise at being loyal companions.” Aziraphale reclaimed his book carefully and closed it with a gentle snap, stroking the cover with his fingertips lightly before returning it to its rightful position on the bookshelf and pausing. Finally he turned to give Crowley a little worried look, which was noticed right away. Crowley frowned warily. After page 135 he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know what type of thought had just settled in the usually mild mannered location of Aziraphale’s mind.

“What?”

“It’s just that..,”

Crowley waited for a moment but no further words appeared to be forthcoming, the angel’s hands working gently as Aziraphale worked on what to say. The demon frowned a little more.

“Just what?”

“Well, you’re very … _competitive_.” Aziraphale was almost apologetic. Crowley tried to find relevance to the conversation and failed miserably. 

“And…?” Was this a bad thing? He didn’t think he was even that competitive. Competitive often needed significantly more interest or dedication than he was willing to put in, and he’d never been one to measure himself against others anyway. But it was clearly enough for Aziraphale to have picked up a decidedly worried expression, and when it was coming soon after the likes of Page 135 then his hide probably would prefer clarification.

“Are you sure we won’t get there and you’ll want us to perform any demonstrations?”

“Demonstrat.. oh. “ Crowley opened his mouth to deny and then hesitated. Well, he could see the point, and quite frankly if anyone was going to excel at delivering pain then hell would be a high contender. He shook his head firmly. “Nah. We’re there to do a job, get in, get out, shake off the worst of it and then have some sort of alcoholic poison. It’s the hokey cokey of assignments. Okay?”

The worried look stated that okay was probably pushing it, but Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile and a nod. Crowley nodded to himself determinedly. Get in, get out. Everything would be fine and dandy, or at least something to that extent.

Right?

Right.

*

“Well, what do you think?”

The event was hosted in a London hotel and in typical London fashion the building was attempting to balance the historical Victorian charm of an older building whilst not falling prey to the more draughty issues that came with said age. In typical London fashion, it had _mostly_ achieved this balance between old and modern as long as someone didn’t squint too hard at the electrics or stand too close to the windows. Still, it was atmospheric enough; plush, neutral, with decorative ceilings, sweeping oak staircases and enough heavy velvet to satisfy even the most discerning of vampires. However, the hotel itself was not the subject of the angel’s query.

They had managed to book a suite, a large, mostly grey affair with flashes of red, thick carpets, an impractical but dramatic chaise lounge at the bottom of a four poster bed, and a television screen tucked tactfully away in a dark corner. Aziraphale was currently stood in front of a silver gilt full sized mirror, staring critically at his smart dark suit. Crawley, who wasn’t expecting to wear much at all, was lounging on his stomach across the bed whilst reading the newest edition of SportsCars Direct. He glanced up as his colleague gave a soft sigh of disappointment.

“Hey, none of that. Looks good. Suits you.” And it did. The suit was streamlined and seemed to give the angel a little more height despite the fact this was clearly some type of optical illusion. The black contrasted shockingly with the whiteness of Aziraphale’s hair and paleness of his skin. The shoes were shiny enough they would probably give off accidental flashes to passing aircraft if the ceiling hadn’t got in the way. However, Aziraphale was clearly dissatisfied, tugging at the collar a little more and readjusting the line of the jacket as he turned this way and that with a look that could only be called disapproving.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop.” Crawley pushed himself off the bed and moved to stand behind him, taking hold of Aziraphale’s shoulders gently to stop the movements. Golden reptilian eyes stared at the angel through the mirror’s reflection. “It’s good. Stop fussing.”

“This isn’t fussing, this is ensuring the details are correct.” the angel protested, a little sulkily.

“It’s fussing.”

“I disagree.” Even more sulkily, with a dash of stubborness.

“Don’t care.” Crawley raised an eyebrow. “And if you continue on this route you’re gonna get creases.”

There was a brief look of horror across Aziraphale’s features at the prospect of creases on top of the clothing issues he was already faced with. Crawley chuckled and gently turned the angel round, beginning to straighten an already ramrod straight tie. 

“It’s just not my colour.” the angel sighed. “Are we sure that the master can’t wear pale?”

“The master can wear whatever they damn well like, but it’s harder to hide in a darkened room if you’re bright enough to be the lampshade,” Crawley advised, frowning himself as he brushed off some non-existent dust from the lapel. “Whispers in people’s ears, gentle nudging, that type of thing, that’s what we’re aiming for. We’re not the starring attraction.”

“I guess so.” Aziraphale deflated a little more. Crawley glanced at him and gently ruffled his hair affectionately in an instinctual way that he couldn’t have said why even if someone had asked. It seemed like a good thing to do at the time, which was often his driving belief.

“Hey now, it’s good. You look good, you look the part, and sure, it’s not that beigey-whitey colour you normally go for, but you said it yourself - theatre, right? Got to play the part,”

Aziraphale perked up. “That is very true. A costume, as it were.”

“Exactly.” Crawley gave him another little tap on the shoulder companionly. “And you’re doing a fine job.”

The pleasure returned to the angel’s smile. “You’re very kind.”

“I’m many things, but kind isn’t one of them. You’ll ruin my reputation.” Crowley flashed him a toothy, lopsided grin and loped back to the bed as he glanced at the clock ticking merrily on the wall. Half an hour to go, and that probably meant that he needed to get ‘changed’ as well. Thankfully the whole of the damned hotel was booked for this event and the staff were .. how did they put it? .. discreet, so apparently the ability to wander around the bloody building naked was an added perk to the room alongside a cooked english breakfast in the morning and some free mini bottles of Fig & Apple shower gel.

“So, when we get down to the dining hall you’ll need to find a suitable place to sit down.. I had a scout around when we got in and they seem to have some big comfy chairs dotted around. Bloody gloomy though, all atmospheric and shadowy and it’s a right pain if you’re actually trying to find someone.” Crowley began to start stripping off, unbuttoning his shirt slowly as his brow furrowed through thought.

“I need you to start talking to a guy called Nicholas Hellen, stocky bastard, short greying hair, has a golden badge on his jacket for some godforsaken reason but at least it’s easier to identify him. He’ll have another man with him, beard, gingery blonde kinda colour, and probably wearing very little. No birthmarks or any other usual features, which is bloody annoying - quite frankly I and half a dozen murder mysteries would much prefer if people get born with some sort of identifying mark on them, would make my life a lot easier rather than double checking through IDs and whatever else. Especially for identical twins, I mean, who the heaven thought of that? Did no one think of tasking when they thought up these things? Honestly.”

The shirt was slipped off his shoulders and landed haphazardly on the floor where Aziraphale picked it up and began to fold it neatly. The demon was still in his own thoughts as Crowley’s nimble fingers moved to the belt and trousers, having kicked off the shoes and socks some time back.

“So yeah, gingery man is my guy, name of Marcus Humphreys, and if I get the right words in his ear then he’s got the potential of creating a whole new type of company and website to really give a boost to temptation on a global scale. Important guy is our Mr Humphreys.. He might not have the money now but his visions have potential as long as he gets over his little habit of worrying what the neighbours think.” Trousers were pushed down and stepped out of, Aziraphale waiting until Crowley had moved a little step away before fishing them off the floor and hanging them across the back of a chair.

“Underwear.” Crowley stopped and looked at the angel expectantly. Aziraphale blinked.

“Underwear?” he repeated, just in case he had misheard.

“Underwear. You want me to wear it or not?” Crowley put a thumb under the elastic waistband of the dark red and blue tight fitting boxers and raised an eyebrow as he indicated it with a little tug. Aziraphale blinked again, which seemed an appropriate thing to do under the circumstances.

“Oh. Well, whichever makes you more comfortable.” He paused, and gave a little smile. “To be honest I’m actually amazed you wear any on a day to day basis. You don’t seem the sort.”

“Yeah?” The toothy lopsided grin was back. “You’d willingly frequent places where people who don’t regularly wear underwear hang out? You rebel. Don’t let Gabriel hear about this, he’ll be very disapproving.”

“I’m not sure I’d really tell the difference.” the angel waved a hand generally toward Crowley’s groin. “So please, feel free. Hang loose, as I believe the saying goes.”

Crowley eyed him for a moment but the look appeared to be sincere which was good enough for him. Giving a little shrug, he pulled off the underwear and gently tossed them onto the chair that the angel had already employed for clothing tasks, strolling across the floor to pick up a leather choker lying on his side of the bed. The demon turned his head and was about to comment on the annoyance of something around his neck when he caught the expression on the other being’s face. Crowley’s eyebrow rose.

“You okay?” Hell, he hoped this wasn’t a point where Aziraphale was reconsidering his activities now that he was face to face - as it were - with the situation. Still, they’d been in many different and random situations where other people’s nudity had been present and the angel had either been mildly interested or completely oblivious. Crowley glanced down at himself. Everything was where it should be, perfectly average male body barring the occasional serpent aspects which just gave him a bit of an edge anyway, not least in the tongue department. Still, he guessed all the nudity scenes hadn’t quite been this personal.

“Hmm?” the angel snapped back, his gaze darting upward like a startled rabbit until it met Crowley’s curious look coming back the other way. “I’m sorry?”

Crowley ran his tongue over his bottom lip and raised the other eyebrow just in case the first got lonely. “I asked whether you were okay.” he said gently. “You looked ... ,” Fascinated. Eager. The same expression the man had whenever he was faced with a new and highly desirable cake. “.. distracted.”

“Was I?” Aziraphale was stricken. “I do beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“My pardon’s just peachy, thanks. Just as long as you are, mm?” Crowley watched him carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the fascination either. Interest, sure, why not, he’d do exactly the same, and Aziraphale was the type of soul to be passionate about tasks anyway. But hunger? That was the type of look Crowley strived to achieve whenever he whispered in someone’s ear. That was the type of look where temptation overruled sanity, pleasures drowned common sense and genuine need was really bloody hard to define. Huh. Crowley affixed the choker around his neck as he watched the angel a little further.

“Oh, yes, of course,” there was definitely a hint of the flustered in those words. Crowley found his gaze falling a little lower in thought. He’d never really thought that much about the sexuality of angels other than knowing they weren’t really ‘up for that sort of thing’, as Aziraphale mentioned one hot evening in Ancient Greece watching a performance that was half wrestling, half naked oil caress. Sex was primarily reproduction and hormones and squishy bits, and the remainder of heaven didn’t seem to do well with it which always struck Crowley as being somewhat ridiculous. Sex to him, of course, was opportunity, and you were never likely to influence people well if you didn’t fully understand what deep desires and needs you were exploiting. Bakers had to try their own cakes and all that jazz, only his form of cakes came with excessive sugar and usually a creamy filling.

“Well.” Crowley’s grin widened once again. “That’s good to hear. Sir.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked like he was expecting to be shot with hellfire. 

“It’s the term of respect, remember? Good grief, don’t have a heart attack on me, that’s going to seriously ruin the plans.” Crowley crossed back and snapped his fingers gently in front of Aziraphale’s face. Thankfully that seemed to work as the angel refocused and gave a little sheepish smile back.

“Oh, of course,” the smile faded slightly as Aziraphale thought on that. “Is ‘Sir’ suitable?”

“If you have a preference, now’s the time to say. Sir. Master. Prince. Lover. Chief. Lord. Commander. Boss. Hell, mistress if you fancy going that route,” Crowley shrugged, then dropped his voice to a lower, silkier version with added velvet purr. “ As you wish, my lord.”

“Ooh!” 

It was as though Crowley had offered several types of new and improved sponge cake with added chocolate drizzle sauce, coupled with a most exquisite type of cocoa. Who’d have thought. The night might be more fun than Crowley had anticipated.

“So, my lord is suitable?” Crowley pressed on, and was faintly surprised to notice a look of indecision cross the angel’s face. He was even more surprised when Aziraphale lifted his hand and gently touched him under the chin, raising his head slightly in the manner of being appraised. Finally Aziraphale nodded and took a step back, then looked down at Crowley’s form with yet another surprisingly business-like expression that the demon wasn’t entirely sure he trusted. Which was a little crazy, of course, and yet that expression reminded him a little too much of past jobs and temptations accepted.

“I believe so.” There was a long pause before Aziraphale continued with a slightly more forceful voice, almost as though he was convincing himself. “And I think you need a mark.”

Crowley pursed his lips slightly, then shook his head uncertainly as though unfamiliar with the word. “A mark?”

“A mark.” Aziraphale said firmly, then continued when he realised that Crowley had no idea where to take that suggestion. “Of ownership? Perhaps on the right buttock, right there?” A gentle poke on the skin before the angel offered him a winning smile. Crowley frowned at him, and then frowned down at his right hip just in case his skin had altered without him noticing. Wouldn’t have been the first time, but no, it was smooth and normal and the same as ever. 

“Allow me?” Aziraphale’s voice was even more warm and welcoming, before there was a moment of indecision. “Would you prefer the pain though?”

“Would I what?” Crowley definitely felt he was losing track of the conversation. Moving immediately from honorifics to pain would be impressive even for his side. “What, of creating the mark?”

“I believe they call it method acting.” the angel definitely seemed pleased at the thought.

“Where I come from we call that torture.” the demon pointed out.

“Well, yes, but it’s _friendly_ torture.” Aziraphale seemed anxious that Crowley understood that such activities were done through happiness rather than misery, which the demon could understand on a certain level but on the other level it was his literal arse on the line and he’d got thousands of years through life without feeling the need to decorate it. On the other hand, Aziraphale did seem extremely keen and although Crowley hated to admit it, there was always a small glow of satisfaction whenever he managed to remove that look of anxiety out of the angel’s eyes. _His_ angel’s eyes. 

Ah, fuck it.

“How would you do it?” he asked finally and grudgingly. Aziraphale clapped his hands together happily.

“Oh, good! Well, I was thinking branding, something a little symbolic.” 

“Fire? Well, that’s easy enough-”

“Well-,”

They paused. Crowley’s eyebrows rose again, the conversation too bizarre for them to resist any further. 

“Well?” he echoed in bemusement. 

“Well, you have to be a little _nervous_ , don’t you? Otherwise it’s not a challenge.” Aziraphale looked at him expectantly. Crowley hesitated.

“Do I? Bloody hell, what sort of books have you been reading?”

“Oh, I made it my duty to research this fully.” the angel’s voice was solemn and dedicated, and Crowley gave a little soft laugh at the sheer determined bloody mindedness and probably hours worth of reading every dodgy book in the store. He waved his hand dramatically.

“Sure, why not. In for a penny, in for a pound. Go on then, there’s nothing that - _holy shit, is that holy water?!_ ” Crowley didn’t take a step back but dear satan, he really, really wanted to. Serpent eyes moved from the little vial to the nervous but excited look in the angel’s eyes and then back again just in case the vial had vanished. It hadn’t. Life apparently liked teasing him. A gentle and warm hand on his bicep brought his attention back onto Aziraphale who was studying him so very carefully. It would have been touching had it not been for the sodding vial that seemed far too close for Crowley’s liking. 

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a pause as both beings recognised that as a complete untruth. “Well, I am, but I’m not going to _hurt_ you. Your safety is paramount to me.”

“Yeah, well, I was kinda hoping it was Disney instead,” Crowley’s mouth kept moving which it normally did under an emergency before he slapped himself mentally out of it. “Sorry. Stupid movie joke, continue.”

“Do you trust me?”

Ah, and it always came down to that one cheesy line, didn’t it? Every single time, and it didn’t matter which one of them said it, or what the circumstances were, or even whether the accuracy of the situation was correct, it was a terrible, cheesy, melodramatic, overly emotional sentiment and Crawley hated it as much as the fact he did was utterly true. He sighed softly and tilted his head slightly in both acknowledgement and faint defeat.

“I do.” 

“Enough for me to get a little brand, put the smallest drop across the surface and press it to your skin enough to raise a mark?” Apparently Aziraphale was getting into contract territories. Crawley eyed him carefully and chewed over that response, but they both knew the answer before it finally and begrudgingly emerged.

“Yeah. Although it is _holy water-_ ”

“I know, I know.” the angel soothed.

“And that _fucking hurts_ ,”

“I know, dear, but that is somewhat the point-”

“And I’m not going to be able to heal that for ages and I’m not even sure it can be healed because, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s _bloody holy water-_ ”

“Indeed, you will be very brave.” the angel’s voice was more soothing than the average throat sweet.

“Does it say that on page 48?” Crowley grumbled, and tried to keep the sulky look out of his expression as Aziraphale gently placed his hand over Crowley’s own and smiled at him warmly and, Crowley hated to admit it, proudly. Oh dear Satan.

“It says it in my heart,” the angel replied softly

“Well, that’s a massive pile of sentimental twaddle if ever I’ve heard it.” Crowley’s sulk was in full force and not even a gentle sweet touch was going to alter that. Well, mostly. “And if that was the case then it’d be bloody messy, I mean we both know how much work goes into actually writing on people’s hearts, it’s a pump, not a surface to write on and you damn well know that-”

Aziraphale waited patiently for the little sea of words to die down before looking at him expectantly. Crowley sighed softly and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“You know, we get hit with the ‘bad guy’ reputation all the time but your lot are always that much worse.” he closed his eyes and then sighed again, giving a little nod. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get this thing done.” Pause. A rueful smile. “My lord.”

“Oh, that was a nice touch.”

“I thought so.” Crowley glanced back at the bed and then at Aziraphale curiously. “So, where do you want me? I don’t want any drips going places.”

Aziraphale made a little thoughtful noise at the back of his throat that was half vibration, half happy little squeak. Crowley made another rueful smile. And there was him thinking that the angel would be taken aback by the whole situation. Just went to prove that you couldn’t judge a book by its tastefully crafted covers. He found himself caught by the arm and gently but firmly tugged toward the bed, where Aziraphale patted the mattress as though trying to encourage a small furry creature to jump up. 

“This should be comfortable.”

“You’re about to burn my skin and you’re worried about my comfort?” Crowley drawled.

“Well, if you put it like _that_ ,” although there was no indecision in the angel’s voice, only a hint of playfulness as the being watched him with the look that Crowley recognised as one of faint concern. The demon sighed dramatically again and approached the bed calmly while he fought down the internal trepidation with as much force as he could muster. It was fine. Definitely. No worries whatsoever. Uh huh. And hell, did he regret some of his choices.

Still, at least the angel was feeling efficient. Having crawled onto the bed, the demon found himself gently demon-handled onto his side, Aziraphale trotting around the bed to obtain pillows before inserting them between Crowley’s legs and under his head. Well, for a moment at least, he was pretty damned comfortable.

“Hey, this is pretty good on the hips.” Crowley was impressed.

“Oh yes, if you put a pillow there then it ensures the spine and the hips are balanced and straight.” Aziraphale was still adjusting with the look of the professional about him. Crowley frowned. A little too much of the professional about him, truth be told.

“How many brandings have you actually performed, out of interest?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,”

Crowley paused, pretty sure it did but uncertain whether he wanted the answer to be none or lots. He felt a gentle pat on his backside, and then a finger begin to trace a pattern on his hip. 

“So, I’d like it about there. What do you think?” The finger was tracing what felt like some sort of figure of eight symbol around ten centimeters long and five wide. It felt, quite frankly, massive, and it didn’t help that the finger was somewhat ticklish which risked ruining his image. Crowley grunted as an answer and focused on the wall in front of him with a minor scowl. Just focus on the wall, nothing to see here, it was like a massage. A vicious, pointed massage.

“C’mon. Let’s get this going,” he tried to ensure his voice was normal and hated the fact he wasn’t sure whether he was successful or not. The angel ran his hand lightly across the demon’s cheekbone soothingly, and then stepped back out of immediate view. 

Crowley focused on his wall. It was a good wall, a sturdy wall, painted in what was a rich dark grey with a creamy white top bit which had a name but he couldn’t quite remember because his mind was trying not to focus on the little flash of metal as Aziraphale created whatever the brand was going to be out of the corner of Crowley’s eye, and no, he was NOT focusing on that at all, focus on the wall. A very good wall. There was a painting on that wall, an oil painting of a racehorse with a slightly peculiar body shape, and the frame was a battered gold one, and in one corner it was slightly damaged where someone had clearly bumped it on the way past and fuck, was that the sound of the vial opening? No, focus, focus, focus. His heart was not beating too fast. He was fine. His breathing needed to be relaxed and focused and slow and all those good things, and this would not go wrong and there was no chance his entire leg would be burnt off and Aziraphale would look after him with all the love and devotion the angel gave to everything he did and possibly even some more because they were friends, they were good friends, they were best friends and there was no way that anyone could-

**HOLY FUCKING SHIT ON A MOTORBIKE**

Do not scream, do not scream, do not scream-

“Ow!!” he hissed through gritted teeth, every single muscle contracted as though that might in some way get away from the burning sheer pain of agony that was occurring on his hip. “ _Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-!,”_

“It’s okay,” came a soft, concerned voice somewhere above him but he didn’t care because it _fucking hurt_ and the world could fuck off for just a moment while he dealt with the throbbing burning pain. The only good thing was that he could still wiggle his toes which meant his leg was presumably still there, but oh dear Satan and other animals, this was fucking terrible and weirdly enough Crowley suddenly found he was chuckling, his head pressing against the mattress and his eyes screwed shut and a strange, ragged laugh of desperation or nervous hysteria or something emerging from his throat. And then the gentle hand was over him again, stroking, soothing, a little movement of peace in his fire filled world and he slowly began to settle as the words that the angel spoke finally broke through the internal ‘ow-ow-ow’ monologue.

“Good boy. That’s it. Perfect. So brave. So strong. Good boy, it’s okay.” over and over like a strange religious chant and at any other type Crowley would have objected to ‘boy’ and would have scoffed at perfect and brave, but right here and right now they felt right and true and personal, and he slowly, slowly began to regain a little more of his consciousness.

His hip, of course, still felt like someone had dipped it in acid but at least the burning intensity that had brought with it an unexpected amount of fear had fucked off away. Crowley shifted position gingerly, and realised exactly how much he’d been sweating. Fuck sake. Anyone would think this was his first rodeo. 

“My bum hurts.” he muttered into the mattress.

“Well, yes,” the hand continued to soothe. “But it will be getting better. And it looks so good, Crowley, so pretty.”

Crowley paused. In all the excitement he had forgotten that there had been an aesthetic point to this little personal bit of torture, and curiousity slowly got the best of him. He raised his head a little more, the dark strands of his fringe sticking to his forehead as he gazed warily across to the angel before finally, gingerly, moving himself to allow a look at the burned mess he called a thigh-buttock-thing.

Only it wasn’t a burned mess.

“That’s .. ,” the demon stared at the little image incredulously. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was conscious of Aziraphale watching him with a concerned look, the angel’s carefully manicured hand still gently stroking him soothingly, but Crowley couldn’t draw his attention away from the work.

“Do you like it? Oh, I hope you do. I thought it was rather apt, but then I guess it might be a little cliche..,”

Crowley found his voice, albeit a croaky, dry one. “It’s good.”

“Really?” the relief was evident in Aziraphale’s voice. “Oh, I _am_ glad, really I am.”

Crowley slowly sat up a little more and carefully ran his fingertips over the top of the brand, gently hissing to himself at the burst of pain. But then again it wasn’t that bad anymore, back to bog standard, raw type of pain that was his bread and butter, and he studied the brand a little more closely. Okay, it was a little stereotypical - the apple, the snake coiled around it, a little flash of a sword - but the quality of the work looked as though someone had taken a laser and burned it into him. Even the shading was perfect, the snake a perfect mix between guard and predator.

“Still fucking hurts though,” he added, just in case the ‘ow’s weren’t enough to judge by. There was another soothing, almost mothering, noise and the angel readjusted some of the pillows. Crowley accepted some water, and groaned to himself as he flopped back. Just one little injury and he felt like he’d just run a marathon. Pathetic. 

“Do you need some time to recover?” Aziraphale asked gently. Time. Crowley frowned, and then glanced toward the clock. Apparently the whole thing had only taken around fifteen minutes and yet his mind had convinced him that hours had passed. He shook his head and slowly swung his leg over the edge of the bed, hissing again as the mark briefly touched the sheets. 

“Now don’t rush this,” Aziraphale warned a little anxiously, stepping in front of him and gently helping him up. “You’re looking a little pale-”

“You’re one to talk.” Crowley’s voice hadn’t quite recovered but he was pleased how quick that came out. The angel accepted the tease gracefully, although his eyes were still worried, his hands bracing Crowley’s weight and the demon being privately thankful they were there. Crowley glanced up a little as Aziraphale cupped his cheek gently. Another rueful, toothy, trademark grin, which was utterly shattered as the angel brushed a light, perfect kiss to the demon’s forehead.

“Well done,” Aziraphale murmured proudly, words only meant for them. Crowley wanted to make a psft noise of dismissal, or a joke, or a throwaway comment, but it was all an automatic defence mechanism, a Crowley scripted response that happily shielded whatever emotions were actually colliding in his mind. The smile he returned was less toothy and more pleased, and - fuck sake - _gentle_. Back to pathetic, and yet it all felt good enough that he didn’t really care. 

“So what, I’m yours now?”

There was a surprised look in the angel’s eyes before that turned to warmth. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You always were. If you weren’t, you’d have never lain down on the bed.” his voice was sheer matter of fact, which thankfully balanced out the sentimental. 

Crowley paused. Well, the angel wasn’t wrong.

“Good.” he said, then flashed a grin. “Then we’d better get to work, right?”

“Right you are.”

“My lord.”

“Now try that without the mocking tone.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” Another bright, cheerful smile that was innocence itself, although there was a twinkle in the angel’s eyes that was quite unreadable. “You’ll learn.”

TBC


	2. The Event

The great hall was both great and, indeed, a hall, which was an excellent start to the evening. Crowley had not been wrong about the ambiance either; dark drapes hung forebodingly against the walls and Aziraphale noted that the lightning was clearly set to ‘mood’ as he trotted down the staircase with his head held high, his back straight and with the shiniest of shiny chains in one hand. The other end, of course, was attached to Crowley’s neck collar and was currently the only thing between the demon and being 100% underdressed. 

Aziraphale turned his head to check on his charge. With power came responsibility, with responsibility came dedication to the cause, and he was determined to do both an excellent job for his friend’s task whilst also guarding said friend from whatever troubles lay ahead. And there would be troubles, there was no doubt on that, whether they danced to them or not. Certainly there were the scheduled troubles that the demon sought for a start, the whispered beginnings of whatever shenanigans Crowley had in mind, but Aziraphale doubted that they could saunter into such a place with Crowley being Crowley on the end of a particularly fetching lead without there being some unanticipated issue.

His demon, of course, was completely relaxed with the current situation. Walking in such a way that was god near a sashay, proud without a hint of self consciousness, Crowley was a crowning beacon in the darkened room and was clearly enjoying the attention. In Aziraphale’s view, that was probably just as well; the attention was significant, and he was conscious of gazes running over the lean form with a hunger that was normally only encountered at beaten up kebab vans just after pub closing.

Aziraphale was, needless to say, very, _very_ proud. 

Pleased, he paused to survey the room carefully before making his way toward one of the free armchairs that had been carefully placed around the corners of the room in little groupings to allow conversation. These were not the only steps the decorators had included for ‘conversation’, having also added a few benches nearby which were set at what Aziraphale now recognised as a ‘practical’ height. It had taken several reads of The Art Of Masterful Touches before he had understood exactly what ‘practical’ meant under these specific circumstances, but it was always good to learn. Humans were very odd. Inventive, but definitely odd.

Still, there were many pleasurable aspects that had emerged from odd, and Aziraphale was not one to turn down a new experience out of some type of squeamishness. Multiple flavours and combinations had been discovered through one person doing something that wasn’t quite understandable at the time, and even after these many years there were always things to explore and discover.

Crowley’s back, of course, was one of them. 

It seemed faintly surprisingly that Aziraphale had never really noticed it before, but then he guessed the majority of their time had revolved around work and tasks and the occasional tea break, and most quality establishments did not hold with the concept of half nude anyones in their tea room, much less a demon. But here said back was, slim but muscular, with a marvellous shape to the shoulders which lead to tapered hips and, Aziraphale privately noted to himself, remarkably pert buttocks. In his honest opinion it bore remarkable similarities to the classic statues he had always admired, only this version of David was living and breathing and remarkably _kind_ even if Crowley maintained he wasn’t and often bearing little thoughtful things such as cakes or books or small tiny things that Aziraphale had mentioned in passing. Crowley _noticed_ things, and it always brought a glow to the angel’s heart whenever he thought about that.

Aziraphale sighed inwardly. If only Crowley had more patience. The possibilities were endless.

He pulled himself together. Now was not the time to start thinking on subjects that had numerous complexities. They had a task to do and Aziraphale briskly located the most suitable chair for his needs, delicately lowering himself to the cushioned seat. This too was velvet, a rich purple that seemed black in the light and seemed most impractical with the amount of lubrication bottles that had been left in strategic spots around the room. The cleaning bill would be absolutely horrendous.

On the plus side it was furnished with a few cushions here and there that Crowley could utilise, and for this the angel was grateful. Aziraphale gently moved a cushion with his foot, jiggling the tassells, and indicated with a careful gesture of his hand that the demon should sit, kneel or lower himself in the manner of Crowley’s choosing on said velvet comfort. Respectful, symbolic, and with the added bonus that Aziraphale could rest his arm comfortably on the arm-rest - the secret was in the name, of course - whilst idly playing with the demon’s hair through his fingers.

He felt it was a wonderfully imposing picture. There were tactile benefits from such an arrangement, but of course his mind was solely on their work. There was no question at all on _that_ subject, none at all. Although it was quite remarkable what pleasures could be achieved simply through the application of fingertips to silky brown hair.

“Can you see him yet?” Aziraphale murmured softly, keeping a warm smile on his face and his gaze casually on the slowly increasing event participants milling in the large space in front of them. Crowley made a gruff little noise. Fingers paused as though this might assist translation. It didn’t.

“Was that a yes or no?”

A minor sigh. “No.”

“My lord.” Aziraphale reminded him gently.

There was another gruff little noise but this one sounded more amused, and although Aziraphale could not see the demon’s eyes through the dark glasses he had no doubt that ‘A Crowley Look’ had been flashed at him. Crowley had many looks for all possible occasions, often with a hint of sarcasm on the side, and always with a dash of his demonic background hidden somewhere in the midst. Aziraphale continued to stroke the demon’s hair affectionately. For all his grr, there was a sweetness that Crowley could never hide. 

“Comfortable?”

“Mm.” 

Aziraphale sighed and gently tapped him once on the head with a finger pointedly.

“Ah, come on, you don’t add ‘my lord’ to mm. It’s a mm.” Crowley’s protest was soft and completely unnoticed by the outside world, but Aziraphale was feeling a little put out, and it only took a little side glance for the demon to notice that.

“Sorry. My lord,” the apology seemed sincere, which was all you could really ask for from a naked demon on a cushion. The pout vanished in an instant, Aziraphale smiling at him happily and feeling Crowley relax against him before they were both rudely awoken from the moment by a shadow falling across them. Aziraphale looked up, and then a little further up, before discovering that there was actually another step of up to go. His word, that was a large man. Stocky, hair matched the description, and indeed there seemed to be a blonde-red man hovering behind him as well. Was their target? Perhaps they were in luck.

“Good evening.” Aziraphale spoke first as the newcomer seemed to be perfectly happy standing there in silence which seemed somewhat unsettling even in this situation. Even this cheerful but professional greeting failed to elicit an immediate response. The man looked at him first appraisingly, and then glanced down to Crowley who, for a novel moment, was also practising his ability to hold his not-quite-as-forked-as-it-used-to-be tongue. Aziraphale felt a strange feeling at the back of his neck which he suspected was the act of bristling, but he pushed that to one side in the name of professionalism. They were here for a task, and a task they must do.

“Is he yours?” the question when it came was rough and direct.

“He is indeed.” Aziraphale folded his hands primly in his lap and raised his eyebrows in question. “And you are?”

“I don’t like names.”

“Well, that must be very awkward when renewing your library card. My commiserations.” Aziraphale gave a little nod and pretended as though the whole thing was of no real consequence. The Unnamed Man Who Was Probably Hellen studied him a little more, then raised an eyebrow.

“And you?”

“I’m..,” Aziraphale paused. A name. He’d entirely forgotten such a thing outside of Master, Sir and Lord. Well, that was also somewhat awkward. He raised his chin a little higher and fixed the man with a firm look. “I’m Master Gabriel.”

The noise from Crowley wasn’t quite a ‘mm’ or a snort or even a cough but a mixture of all as though multiple response had attempted to leave the demon at the same time and ended up in fisticuffs at the entrance. Aziraphale ignored him and simply smiled sweetly at the man who had already turned his attention to Crowley and was eyeing him suspiciously. 

“And him?”

“He’s my ..,” Aziraphale’s mind didn’t go blank but the suggestions it came up with were definitely not suitable. Pet names, pet names, come on... “..Angel.”

There was another noise that was definitely leaning more toward the choke than the laugh, but Aziraphale ignored him stoically. The man, who Aziraphale was planning to call Hellen regardless of whether it was true or not, gave Crowley another suspicious look.

“Why is he wearing blackout goggles?” 

“Well I must say you’re very demanding of your questions, aren’t you?” the angel leaned back in his chair and gently stroked Crowley’s head again with the air of one petting his loving and obedient dog. Thankfully the demon had recovered from his reaction at being called an angel, although Aziraphale could already imagine the complaints that would occur as soon as their feet stepped out of the room. Still, it was true, to a certain extent, and for all his protests Crowley was undeniably nice.

Probably-Hellen made a small snorting noise. “Let’s say I’m curious.”

“ I’m not certain about the curious but you’re certainly rude,” Aziraphale lifted his chin and straightened his back as he stared back at him. “The glasses are a special device of mine. Blinkers. They keep his gaze focused and where I want it.” A happier smile again. “I find they do _very_ well for us.”

There was another grunt - quite honestly the man must have been raised by actual pigs - before their visitor settled himself roughly into one of the neighbouring chairs. Aziraphale winced internally. He was certain that the design had practicalities in mind, but it was always a personal pain to see upholstery abused in such a manner. Still, needs must and Crowley seemed fixated on the younger man following in Hellan’s wake which definitely boded well. 

“And your young man?” Aziraphale looked at him carefully. Said young man certainly seemed a little on the nervous side, with a bruise on one thigh that seemed a little too dark for Aziraphale’s liking. Hmm. This was not the place for assessing things at face value, but it still felt a little off to him. However, this was dismissed with a small wave from the Probable-Hellen, which at least was an improvement on the pig noises.

“He’s under consideration.” There was a pause. “Needs improvement.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s doing his best.” Aziraphale tried to put a little more cheerfulness into his voice as he smiled at the nervous man as best he could under the circumstances. There was another dismissive noise and the man’s attention moved back to Crowley with an intensity that Aziraphale was certain he didn’t like. He frowned hard but as everyone ignored it this failed to achieve the required effect. Most vexing.

This was also probably the longest he had ever seen Crowley behave himself, which was suspicious in itself. Visually, he was innocence itself; the demon’s head was bowed respectfully, his skin gleamed in the glow of the lights, and even his usual small smile was absent. Oh yes, highly suspicious. Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed carefully. Ordinarily this was the point for a small planning session, but the room was filling up and miracles were very tightly regulated. It seemed he would have to press on ahead and hope that something awkward would not occur. All that needed to happen was for Crowley and the young man to meet up and how difficult could that be, really?

“I find sometimes it’s easier for our companions to gain insight and skill from talking to their contemporaries,” the angel suggested, deciding on a new route to achieve their goals. “Perhaps it might be beneficial for my boy,” Oh, he would burn in hell. “ to talk with yours? Show him the ropes, as it were. Or, indeed, literally, I see they’ve brought out a few play areas.”

Was that the term? It sounded a little too much like swings and roundabouts and sandpits, but then he guessed that everything could be utilised for sexual activity if you had enough imagination.

For a moment, just for a moment, he thought that Probably-Hellen would agree and the pair would be able to move further into the shadows for Crowley to whisper whatever it was he needed to whisper. But no. A gleam shone in Probably-Hellen’s eyes for a moment as he looked across at the small section of equipment and then down at Crowley. 

“Or perhaps a demonstration.” 

Oh dear lord and small fluffy bunnies, that was not exactly what he had in mind, or at least not in public. Aziraphale frowned in disapproval, and shook his head firmly.

“I’m afraid not. We are very private people.” His gaze took in the naked demon still on his cushion and amended things slightly. “In certain areas.”

“Then how do I know your ‘Angel’ knows what he’s talking about?” replied the man calmly. “We have to be safe, don’t we?”

Out of the corner of his eye Aziraphale could see Crowley slightly move, his head slowly tilt in what appeared to be the world’s smallest nod. But then that was a very dangerous assumption to make. Perhaps that was less a nod and more a crick in his neck. Perhaps he had just moved for an undefined reason. Oh yes, this was clearly not the time to start reading things into body movements, after all _anything_ could happen. Oh, for the ability to simply switch time off for a moment for a full discussion and then put life back on play! But this was just not a good location for such a thing, not with the audience which was increasing with each minute that went past.

Bother.

Still there were other ways to groom a cat (skinning was far too extreme, thank you very much).

“He is _my_ boy, and _my_ decision, thank you very much.” Aziraphale kept his voice stern and firm but could feel himself getting more than a little cross, his tone sharpening as he fixed the man with the firmest look he could achieve short of employing concrete. “It is not I who has a problem with their follower, and in fact neither did I invite you to sit with me.”

Possibly that was a little far and a subtle backtrack was required before the man genuinely left for other pastures. But still, Crowley was his. That someone would dare request his time was unspeakable.

“A demonstration is completely unnecessary, you can _clearly_ see his quality already.” Aziraphale felt this was a fair compromise. Unfortunately his listener thought otherwise and leaned forward.

“Are you scared to show what he can do?”

“My dear man, you have absolutely no idea what he can do, of that I am certain.” Cross was swiftly turning to peeved. Of all the nerve! “He can take whatever I desire and perform to whatever I say.”

Probably-Hellen sat back with a smile. “Well then.”

“No. _No._ There is no ‘well then’, this is unacceptable!” Aziraphale’s hand had almost worked itself into a fist which was an unexpected but entirely justified dramatic moment as far as he was concerned. There was a small ‘uff’ noise from Crowley, a little sigh that managed to transmit at least three paragraphs of feelings in such a small little noise. Probably-Hellen gave a little chuckle and nodded at the demon in faint triumph.

“I’m not sure your perfect, quality boy agrees with you, _Master_ ,” the words were purred out as the man stood and stretched. “Tell you what. I’ll give you ten minutes to think it over before I come back and see whether you’ve changed your mind. Seems a shame to keep him all quiet in the shadows when he should be shown off.”

Aziraphale didn’t make a habit of glowering but he brought the ability out of retirement just for this occasion. Probably-Hellen reached out and ruffled Crowley’s hair, looking back at Aziraphale pointedly before stalking away with his nervous charge bringing up the rear. With the annoyance gone the angel slowly began to calm, his hand gradually uncurling to reveal the small little marks where his perfectly manicured nails had buried themselves into the flesh from such outrage. Aziraphale found himself briefly regretting the loss of his flaming sword before remembering himself and giving a side look toward Crowley to check how he was.

The demon, of course, had more than enough to say on the situation.

“Okay. What the bloody hell are you doing?” low and faintly exasperated.

“I am guarding your honour.” Aziraphale replied stiffly.

“You’re doing _what?_ C’mon, do I look like I have any honour worth guarding?!” Crowley’s voice was kept low enough that it was lost in the murmur of the room, a quiet conversation between the pair of them as he kept his respectful position. Aziraphale paused but the annoyance was too great for that to last.

“He’s _not_ a very nice man.”

“I know, that’s the point of this situation!” 

“From what I understand this is a very friendly and respectable community.” Aziraphale’s voice turned clipped.

“Don’t be bloody naive, all communities have their arseholes and he happens to be a bloody good catalyst to convince his current PlayThing that he needs to seize his frustrations and go do the thing he actually wants to do! Conflict is a damned good motivator. Why d’you think we’re doing it here and not in some pub down the East End?” Crowley growled softly, and then sighed with a shake of his head and his voice softening. “Look, I appreciate the thought, I really do. However, it’s okay. Stop trying to save me.”

Aziraphale fell into mutinous silence. Crowley, and indeed most of London and the South East of England noticed the change of mood and the demon changed tact.

“Okay, okay, look. You said it yourself, I can take it. You’ve just burned your own personal doodle on my arse with holy water, I think I can handle whatever you have to throw at me on Earth,” there was another pause and Crowley’s voice softened even further. “Can’t let a bastard like that win, can we?”

The mutinous silence was still present but indicated it was prepared to listen. 

“And I know you want to.” Crowley’s sly grin could be audibly heard in his words.

Mutinous silence was abandoned in order to protest. “I do _not!_ ” 

“Yeah, you do.” Crowley’s voice drifted into a lower, softer voice, a seductive purr that was almost chocolately in its richness. “You want to have me under your control, don’t you? Feel me obey your commands, sense how connected we are. You want to rest your hand on me and feel the way I respond to your every touch, every wish, lap up every decision you make.”

Oh, and this was a different kettle of fish. Aziraphale felt as though he was drifting away on a sea of words, images remarkably vivid and beautiful in his mind, dancing in and out of possibilities and emotions and the slow burn of anger and distress dissolving in the face of something significantly better to focus on.

“Well, that does sound remarkably pleasant…,” the sudden remembrance of who he was dealing with reinserted itself within his mind. “Oh. I say, you are remarkably _good_ at this, aren’t you?”

“What, temptation? I might have dabbled over the years.” the demon replied idly, relaxing a bit now that the tension had eased from the angel’s shoulders. “Doesn’t make it any the less true though, that’s what gives it the force. And I mean it, seriously. Don’t do it for him, do it for you. Do it for _us_. Back, shoulders, arse, legs, whatever you fancy, I can do. Encourage Lord Twatface to be his usual charming self, I can whisper some words of encouragement to our starring role, and before you know it we’ll be sitting down with a glass of fizz and a couple of those bakewell tarts you like-”

“With the extra cherries?” the angel’s eyes shone.

“Pretty sure you can only have the cherry once.”

“Really?” Aziraphale was aghast from this information.

“No, not really, it’s a joke, stop deflating on me.” Crowley gently nudged him in a pointed but still respectful from a distance way.

“I don’t think that’s something that should be joked about,” the angel replied sternly, but gave him a little smile and sat up straighter in his chair purposefully. Crowley gave him another little side glance carefully.

“So we’re good? You’re up for this?”

“It seems the most appropriate thing to do.”

“Excellent.” A slow grin. “Give me hell.”

“Don’t make this easier to discipline you.” Aziraphale replied, then shook his head again. Honestly, a few words and his mind had completely lost all track of sanity! “I mean, should the need arise. Perhaps we can keep this at the casual bondage stage. You know, pretty and decorative and … “ a hand was waved experimentally. “..bendy.”

“Pft.”

“Contrary to your usual belief, that is not actually a proper and well thought out argument.”

“Pft again.”

“You’re trying to make me cross, aren’t you?”

“Might be. Is it working?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh it _is_ , you’ve got your little twitch-,”

And that was far enough, Aziraphale decided. Turning to fix the demon with a very firm, decisive stare that normally only popped out for special occasions and people talking at the theatre, Aziraphale waited until Crowley had realised his mistake and sagged a little in defeat before raising an eyebrow in small but minor victory.

“Have you _quite_ finished?” Oh, school mistresses could not have improved the tone nor the very precise articulation, and Aziraphale was satisfied to note that Crowley’s posture now seemed sheepish enough that he was in danger of being herded up by energetic border collies. 

“Fine.” Pause. A much lower voice. “...mmsorry..,”

“I didn’t hear that.” Aziraphale’s voice was pointed, the angel surfing on the wave of authority which felt remarkably comfortable. Crowley shifted slightly and Aziraphale knew without question that the demon was trying to stop his automatic sarcastic retort that turned up whenever Crowley felt vulnerable. Would he be successful? It was a fascinating battle. 

“‘I’m sorry.” the words finally came out, reluctantly but sincerely. There was another pause, and Crowley tried to sweeten the deal. “My lord.”

Oh, good boy! Aziraphale was delighted but kept it as firmly under wrapped as he could. Half the battle seemed to be working against the little defensive mannerisms that Crowley employed whenever he was unsure or feeling embarrassed, and yet here they were, a lovely little step along the path of .. well, he wasn’t quite sure on where the path was leading, but surely good intentions would always lead somewhere nice.

“Very well,” Aziraphale gently pat-stroked the demon’s head affectionately. “I forgive you.”

“Aww. That’s very sweet.” a familiar rough voice broke through the moment, and Aziraphale felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise once again in a negative fashion. And yes, sure enough, there was the Man-Known-As-The-Arsehole-Hellen with his arms folded and an expression that the angel was sure he didn’t quite like. Leering, perhaps. No, he was _not_ a nice man, and there was no way in either heaven or hell he was letting such a person get near his demon. 

“Oh good. You’re back. What a joyous moment.” Aziraphale replied flatly.

A hand gestured toward Crowley. “Did you make your decision, or are you both going to whimper in a corner?”

The angel stood, raised his chin, brought himself up to his full height and looked the other man straight in the nipple. Hmm. Perhaps raise the chin a little higher. Ah! There. Hellen looked down at him with a mocking expression, arms still folded in what appeared to be deliberate rouse to emphasise the size of his biceps. Behind him fidgeted the blonde-ginger man whose name Aziraphale had almost completely forgotten, and, slightly more concerningly, were a little group of party guests who were watching in genuine interest. Oh. An audience. Just what he wanted. And yet you didn’t get to this stage in your angel career without having _some_ knowledge of people skills. 

If it was a show the man was after then a show he would get.

“We don’t whimper.” Aziraphale’s voice was utterly polite and utterly deadly, a warm little smile that failed to reach his eyes. “Since you seem incapable of teaching your boy yourself,” a nice little jab there, even if he thought it himself. “I have decided to demonstrate a small element of our repartee. However, it will not be our full force. I have only just branded him,” A little louder for those at the back, it seemed only polite. “And I do not wish to damage the image.”

There was a little murmur in the crowd at the branding, and Aziraphale felt a flash of pride. Of course they could do this. He gave the shiny chain a gentle little tug and Crowley rose to his feet in a flowing, serpentine way, all graceful and smooth with a hint of strength in his limbs. The angel gave him a little pleased look before turning and tossing his head back before beginning to walk - okay, perhaps a _little_ saunter - toward the play area. The crowds ahead parted like a leather clad version of the Red Sea, and Azriaphale was momentarily taken aback by the sheer interest they had generated. This was certainly not the first activity on said play area, but apparently it was marked up as some type of show stopper.

That was slightly disconcerting, but he was sure everything would go _swimmingly._

“Make sure it’s hard, my lord.” Crowley’s low voice drifted to his ears. “Marks. They’ll want marks.”

“You have a mark.” Aziraphale breathed back.

“Well, I need some more of them.”

“That’s _very_ inconsistent of you, I must say.” the angel continued to the play spot and turned, noticing immediately that Crowley was very deliberately showing off the brand mark to the larger crowd. The image - a raised black and red colouration, shone beautifully in the light, and Aziraphale had no doubt that said flattering light did not originate from any earthly lightbulb. He smiled to himself fondly. Such a show off.

“Mmm,” he turned to face the play area and surveyed the available equipment critically. There was a bench, which seemed traditional, a few small stools with various holes, a ridiculous amount of black leather which was unimaginative but wipe clean, and right at the back was an interesting structure that almost _called_ to him. 

“Look at that. A St Andrew’s cross. Isn’t that perfect?” Aziraphale was pleased. There was a lack of noise from behind him but he could almost feel Crowley’s groan through his bones. Well, it wasn’t actually _religious_ as such, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t going to be blessed in any way other than possibly people repeating the words ‘oh god’ near it on a frequent basis. And of course it was an absolutely perfect structure to spread Crowley across and allow Aziraphale access to that glorious back. Absolutely perfect indeed!

He turned his head to Crowley and simply smiled brightly at him until the demon made a tiny ‘ugh’ expression and moved grudgingly toward the cross, raising his wrists and spreading his legs into the required positions. Aziraphale, meanwhile, turned back to the audience with a happy expression, clapping his hands together as he did so. Entertainment! He had plenty of practise of this.

“Hello, and welcome to our display. My name is Master Gabriel, and I am very pleased to be here with you all.”

“Oh, you have to be kidding..,” came a mutter from behind him and Crowley’s forehead lowered front of him in exasperation. Aziraphale ignored him, content in the knowledge that most people would fail to hear the little mutters.

“I was wondering whether I might possibly have a bit of assistance for this work,” Aziraphale was back on his spiel, and as it turned out there wasn’t much between a magic show and a full BDSM demonstration at all. “You there, would it be possible for you to assist me with the bonds?”

The ‘you there’ had been addressed to the nervous ginger man belonging to Hellen, and the invitation didn’t appear to help the nervousness at all. A cautious look was shot toward the bigger man, but Hellen waved another hand and gave a nod.

“Go on. Let’s see what they have.”

“Oh, that is _very_ kind of you. And what is your name, dear boy?” the angel looked expectantly at his new glamorous if reluctant assistant, who looked startled by the question. 

“Marcus,” came the answer, slightly mumbled. Aziraphale nodded gravely as though this was the answer to life itself, clapped his hands together in a business like way and stepped a little away from the cross.

“Well, Marcus, you seem a fine young lad for such a task. Would you mind fastening my dear Angel here to the cross?”

The fine young lad looked a little bewildered but nodded and moved toward the structure, carefully fastening the leather binds around Crowley’s wrists before bending to fasten his ankles. Once the demon was spreadeagled and not going anywhere, he stepped back again and looked toward Aziraphale for further instruction.

The angel needed no further prompting. “Ah, thank you.” he moved to gently test the fit of the restraints, making appreciative noises as he did so. “Well, those are perfect. See how he’s carefully fit them so they’re not too tight to affect circulation but equally not loose enough for Angel to move? Very well done, I must say. My boy can be a bit of a slippery snake on occasion.”

“I honestly can’t believe you,” came another background mutter, but Crowley stayed where he was. Aziraphale pretended as though he hadn’t heard, and simply smiled a little more at the audience in the manner of one about to suggest a rousing sing-song.

“As you can see, I’ve been very careful with him recently.” the angel informed the rapt audience, moving slightly back so he could place a hand lightly on Crowley’s shoulder. “Can you see his sheer strength, the sheen of his skin? A perfect canvas, as I’m sure you can agree. It will show up any marks and decorations beautifully, just like this branding on his hip,”

The audience admired the brand from afar, Aziraphale’s hand sliding down Crowley’s back to his rear as though showing off a horse at a show. There was a small shudder, a very very quiet curse, and Crowley finished it off with a small growl. Still, the demon didn’t tug on his bonds, his objections kept purely to the softest of curses rather than an attempt to flee. And after all, what was a public display without a little bit of humiliation?

“Now, I have a small confession to make,” Aziraphale confided cheerfully. “I don’t actually know which tools I want to use at the moment. There’s many, _many_ choices, aren’t there?”

Thank you pages 200-205 and the catalogue of Flogger’s Weekly for your valuable contribution to this show. He looked around the room as though anticipating suggestions, and then looked back at Marcus who was watching in fascination. 

“Marcus, would you mind fetching me a box that’s sitting behind that chair in the shadows?” he asked sweetly. The box, needless to say, had not existed until two seconds ago, but they were always encouraged to be diverse in their miracles. The box was a handsome affair; polished wood, with bronze detailing and a lock that suggested that it was one step away from being repurposed as a pirate treasure chest. A click, a swish and the interior was displayed for all to see in a flourish that a circus ring-master would be proud of.

“Now, this is one of my favourites,” said the angel who had literally only set eyes on it a few seconds ago, gently lifting an item from the box and running the fronds through his fingers delicately and confidently. “This is a beautiful flogger with a hand crafted handle, sensational detailing and that warmth that comes from suede, long enough to really make a difference but still compact enough for tight control. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

There was a soft murmur of consensus from the audience. 

“But I can hear you all thinking that’s a little tame, and I fully understand that.” Aziraphale nodded his agreement to the imaginary criticism, and gave another warm smile toward Marcus who flushed and moved a little further back. He bent down again and picked up another item that chinked as it moved, and he could see Crowley’s back stiffen from the noise out of the corner of his eye.

“Now this piece leaves some _beautiful_ marks, it really does. This is called the ‘Chain of Surrender’, such a _dramatic_ name don’t you think?” Currently on special offer in said Flogger’s Weekly with four and a half star reviews to its name, but that was beside the point. “As you can see it has a leather handle and these rather sturdy looking metal chains which are a whole 36 cm each-,”

“Fuck’s sake, have you bought shares in an erotic company or something?” came Crowley’s muttered voice, but even as low as it was Aziraphale could sense the wariness. The angel’s cherubic smile grew a little more. There was something strangely exquisite about Crowley’s uncertainty, as though his armour had been peeled away to show the real being underneath. Aziraphale felt he probably should feel slightly guilty about such a response to his dear friend, but then Crowley’s uncertainty and .. dare he say, _fear_.. was firmly in Aziraphale’s control. His friend was safe, and the thrill of the rollercoaster would never be so great without the nervous anticipation of the creep-creep-creep-pause to get to the top, teetering between anticipation and terror. Crowley would thank him later, he had no doubt.

In the meantime he was happy to tease. Aziraphale ran his fingers across the coolness of the chains, delighting in the feel and deliberately ensuring that the chink-chink of the metal could be clearly heard by his waiting demon. There was no godly way that Crowley would ever confess to being worried but Aziraphale could almost taste it in the air. So beautiful. So raw. So.. well, _passionate_.

“- and it has such a _lovely_ fluid movement to it.” Aziraphale finished, and calmly, precisely spun on the ball of his foot and laid a strike neatly across Crowley’s upper back with a snap so meticulous and loud that it had the same impact as a gunshot in the room. 

The sound died away and for a moment there was absolute silence, the eyes of the room turned to them in awe.

And that, of course, was good. Aziraphale turned to smile cheerfully back at his audience once again, before beginning to .. well, _prowl_ for lack of a better word.. around Crowley. He didn’t necessarily like the concept but it was an essential part of what he needed to do - waiting, waiting, noting the way that the demon’s body had tense and collapsed back after the force of the impact, his head hanging forward as Crowley slowly brought his breathing back under control from the raw, ragged gasps immediately after the blow.

The mark, of course, sprung up soon after, a proud, red welt that stretched diagonally across the demon’s back with the clear promise of brighter colours to come. Beautiful. But he couldn’t stop there, and Crowley wouldn’t want him to either.

Another one added itself to already flinching skin, and Aziraphale had to remind himself of their conversations at the muffled pained ‘ngh’ as Crowley bit his lip. But the demon _could_ take it, Aziraphale had ensured he had practised on his own skin once knowing about the requirements of the evening, and the quickened breath was a soft plea in many ways. Crowley’s hands moved themselves so they could grip the chains tying him to the cross, the demon silently bracing himself for the remainder of the blows but accepting them without question or argument.

Not that said blows needed to be _too_ quick, of course. Crowley might tempt him in all manner of ways, but patience was both a virtue and an enhancement, and Aziraphale ran the chains through his fingertips once again as he strolled around with as much idleness as he could muster. 

He knew Crowley _so well_ by now, and even Aziraphale himself was surprised by that revelation. He knew, for example, exactly when Crowley’s patience would have worn out from waiting, knew exactly when the demon’s natural instinct to add a sarcastic line or complain or sulk would have taken place, and the next blow against Crowley’s backside almost coincided with the timing of the demon’s head rising to protest.

“...fuck..,” the word was almost a hiss, Crowley’s hands gripping at the bonds a little harder as he fought to keep control, the lines of the flogger criss crossing prettily over his skin and rising over the rise of the non-branded arse cheek. Aziraphale smiled again sweetly to whoever was still watching him rather than Crowley, and carefully handed the Chain of Surrender to Marcus who held it as though the flogger was an unexploded bomb.

Now that he had set the scene and proven they were no ‘light touch’, the suede flogger was next. And this was much easier, Aziraphale felt; his hand fell into a nice rhythm as he continued to warm Crowley’s skin with a series of medium impacts, over and over again, a drum roll of sensation that was not quite painful but not quite comfortable and layering this over the entirety of Crowley’s back until a warm glow emanated across his skin with all the persistence of a small child trying to get its kite down from a tree.

Oh yes, this was _amazingly_ relaxing, and Aziraphale would have commented that the techniques he utilised with pois were remarkably useful when it came to flogging had he not known that this additional of the mundane would almost certainly turn Crowley’s hiss into a growl. Well, possibly. There was a very good chance that Crowley wouldn’t even notice at this stage. The demon’s head had drooped again, Crowley’s breathing quick and fast and a light sheen of sweat covered his body as he accepted the impacts without question. 

And that.. Now, that was interesting. Aziraphale had never seen the demon quite so compliant; there wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm or one liner or little soft noise, just an honest acceptance to his fate. It was both remarkable and just a little bit humbling. 

And of course now that he had started looking Aziraphale found he couldn’t stop. The darker marks from the initial hard blows shone through on Crowley’s skin, their colour deepening as time went on with the tremble in the demon’s form becoming a little too apparent. Aziraphale paused, rotating his wrist idly as he took another opportunity to stroll around as though they were doing nothing more intensive than a jolly walk around the park. He stopped near Crowley’s side, close enough to feel the heat from his skin, identify each trained, controlled, pained breath and savour Crowley’s unique scent, an indescribable smell that always brought the images of fresh sweet earth and raw and _wild_ to Aziraphale’s mind.

“You’re doing amazingly well,” he murmured truthfully to the exhausted demon. “Truly. I am very, _very_ proud.”

The angel wasn’t entirely sure what word the demon replied with but he felt there was a good chance it was ‘ngh’. Chuckling fondly without even knowing the reason, Aziraphale placed the palm of his hand on the warmth of Crowley’s back and delighting in the little movement of surprise that darted through the demon’s body, the little adorable tremble and the sheer _heat_ that radiated from him. So perfect. So _genuine_. The angel lowered his mouth to Crowley’s ear again, so near it was almost touching as he took a moment to simply luxuriate in their closeness before beginning to speak.

“Don’t worry about what’s happening outside of us,” Aziraphale breathed, a co-conspirator in a peculiar world. “Just focus on me. Focus on what’s happening to you, the sensation, the need. Isn’t it good? Isn’t it _real_? You make me very proud, Crowley.”

Crowley, for his part, gave a soft, almost pitiful groan, and much to Aziraphale’s surprise tried to nuzzle against him. The surprise turned to pleasure, and Aziraphale stroked his hand down the demon’s back again, overjoyed in the soft purr and the little reactions as touch met sore spot. His palm lingered over the still fresh brand, and Crowley hissed again, a soft snake gently protesting against such treatment but still failing to pull away.

“It’s alright, Crowley. Very brave,” And instinctually, for reasons he couldn’t quite justify, Aziraphale pressed a little kiss to the demon’s temple lovingly.

Wait.

Kiss.

Crowley.

...Fiddlesticks!

The world stopped quicker than any blow from an implement, reality inserting itself so quickly it almost got carpet burns. For a second Aziraphale froze, an apology automatically on his lips that thankfully didn’t get any further than a mere thought. He could taste Crowley on his lips, the sweat giving him a sweet-salty hint, and .. well.. It was all a little overwhelming, a flush of guilty pleasure sweeping through him. So good and yet so very, very, _very_ bad.

Calm, calm, _calm_. Just carried away in the moment, that was all. A good idea at the time. Nothing to see here, move along, definitely, _definitely_ .. uh… good.

Yes. Exactly.

“... stop freaking out.” Crowley’s voice was barely there, a rough croak from a raw throat.

Aziraphale attempted to act normally and failed miserably. “I’m not. I’m merely-,”

“..freaking out.” the demon paused to groan tiredly, his head sagging again briefly as though all the strength had been zapped from his body before he circled a wrist pointedly. “You wanna get me down now or is there another act to this drama?”

“Well, there’s always three acts to a drama, everyone knows that,” Aziraphale protested softly, but his words were on automatic pilot to fill in the blanks while his mind worked on something else. However, Crawley did have a point and Aziraphale pushed himself back into a more appropriate mindframe. They had come so far, he couldn’t fall at the last hurdle and waste all of his demon’s sacrifice. 

Right. To work. _Entertain_. And may god have mercy on their slightly battered souls.

“And that,” Aziraphale proclaimed, stepping back into his role and giving a little bow as he pretended that everything was absolutely tickety-boo. “Is our demonstration for tonight. Thank you for watching, and I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as we did.” he glanced carelessly to the side, acting to the end. “Marcus, would you mind helping me release my angel?”

And he would have liked to have said ‘and it was that easy’ when it came to the task but Aziraphale suspected that the vivid marks decorating Crowley’s back would probably indicate otherwise. But sure enough, the young Marcus stepped forward willingly to help the tired Crowley from his frame who was also deliberately over-acting, leaning a little heavier on the young man’s shoulder and of course that meant that Crowley could easily start adding his own little whispers to Marcus’ ear, which grew to a conversation, which grew a little more, and Aziraphale could almost see the change in Marcus’ eyes as Crowley’s ‘suggestions’ took root. 

And there, just like that, it was finished.

A task completed and a job well done and yet it was still so very difficult to contemplate anything other than the momentary brush of lips onto Crowley’s skin. Impossible, almost, which was entirely ridiculous. Certainly Aziraphale had not exactly had _much_ experience in the art of kissing or romantic physical gestures of any description whatsoever but the act was perfectly natural in the human world and there were many, _many_ natural acts in the human world that he had taken to like a duck to water and this -

“Are you _still_ freaking out?” Crowley asked with a frown from behind him. Aziraphale managed to hide his small jump of surprise with a readjustment of position and tried to recover the higher ground.

“I am still in charge, Crowley,” he said reprovingly.

“Oh yeah. My apologies. Are you still freaking out, _my lord_?” Crowley gave a little bow, but the angel could sense his upset. Which, he guessed, was fair enough. If you trusted someone enough to allow them to bind you to a cross and beat you, a small kiss should have been nothing. And yet, here they were.

Slightly flustered, Aziraphale raised his chin again and took hold of the little silver chain still attached to Crowley’s collar, giving it a small tug.

“I am _not_ and I believe we should probably start making a move home.”

“To the room,” Crowley corrected carefully.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant. The room.”

“Mm.” the demon pulled a face. “Course you did. My Lord.”

Aziraphale frowned and tried to look unconcerned, which of course was about as successful as an aardvark in an ant farm. Crowley eyed him for a moment, then began to walk backward so the chain was tight between them. He indicated the door with a little jerk of his head, gaze still fixed on Aziraphale as though the angel might vanish if he stopped looking. 

“Right. We’re gonna have a talk about this, right now.” there was a pause and an amendment. “Right after we get a couple of bottles of alcohol from the bar,”

“Very well,” Aziraphale raised himself to his full height and glanced in concern at Crowley who was still walking gingerly. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” the demon flashed a toothy smile that wasn’t quite right. “I’m cosmic. And in pain. But mostly cosmic.”

And that, it seemed, was that. Well, up until they got to the room, anyway.


	3. The Make Up

Alcohol. Saver of souls, wetter of throats and lubricator of conversations. A couple of bottles had been obtained from the bar, a delicate fizzy one for Aziraphale and a bottle of vodka strong enough to strip paint from the windowsill for Crowley, and even that brand of fire was unlikely to last longer than a couple of hours maximum. Still, it did a job. What type of job this would turn out to be was debatable and probably depended entirely on the mood at the time, but those were the types of questions that could just bugger off until Crowley felt a little more comfortable.

Buggerations, he ached. The pains had almost merged into one half way through the event, Crowley lost in a fog of ..well, fogginess, he wasn’t a bloody dictionary - but those agonies had come rolling back as soon as Crowley’s mind had cleared. His back stung, his wrists throbbed and his arse was a sodding - if decorative - wasteland. Weirdly it was all a _satisfying_ pain, much like the after effects of marathon running or good-for-you-exercise, but that didn’t necessarily help him to sit.

And then, of course, there was Aziraphale.

“You must let me help you,” the angel’s eyes were full of concern and his voice full of kindly fuss, but there was definitely something off about the angel and that wasn’t necessarily connected to the fact the being was still _fully dressed_. Crowley studied him carefully; a cherubic being, Aziraphale bore a worried expression and his hands were held together as though he was a prim and proper lady of the mid centuries about to say something like ‘my word’ or ‘goodness me!’ or ‘heavens!”, and that posture, Crowley realised, was mostly because Aziraphale was really, really cautious about touching Crowley. Always had been. The demon had spent as much time as he could over the years in what was generally known as Aziraphale’s ‘personal comfort zone’ and there was never a squeak of outrage or concern, but Aziraphale always - _always_ with a couple of underlines and possibly an exclamation mark for good measure - kept his hands carefully to himself as though he was worried where they might end up under their own power.

A soft little noise reminded him there was a question outstanding. 

“I’m fine.” Crowley dragged himself back to the present, pooh-poohed the concern away and watched as Aziraphale bit his lip from pointing out this was quite clearly a lie and not even a good one. The angel desperately tried to find a new route to tackle this ill. 

“Well, could I make you more comfortable?” he suggested. “ A quick wave of the hand and your marks-,”

And oh no he wasn’t. Crowley almost damaged himself further by the speed of his reaction, turning himself so hands couldn’t get anywhere near the spots, and held a hand up as though directing corporeal traffic. 

“Hey, you leave my marks alone, thanks very much. I _like_ those marks.”

Aziraphale hesitated, uncertain with this turn of events. “What, _all_ of them? Even the whippy ones?”

“Specially the whippy ones.” Crowley was determined on this subject. He tried to stand a little straighter to aid his argument but this only resulted in a throbbing twinge and the slightest of winces which didn’t help the disbelief in Aziraphale’s eyes. Well, that was clearly just bloody annoying of him. The other bloody annoying thing was the angel’s soft, sad little sigh that made Crowley feel a bit of a bastard, and how did that work anyway? He was the one tied up, beaten and abused - albeit not quite abused _enough_ \- and yet he felt as though he’d pummelled Aziraphale into a little bloody heap. For hell’s sake, the angel did things to his mind that Crowley really, really didn’t understand.

“ But I would like to do _something_.” Hands wringed in agitation as Aziraphale attempted to find a Crowley approved solution. “Would you like a cushion?”

“No thanks,” Crowley drawled. “My entire evening seems to be revolving around cushions,”

More hand wringing as though Aziraphale was trying to strangle an invisible fairy, his mind working furiously as the angel tried to make sense of Crowley’s decisions. This was an aim that was pretty much destined to fail. Hell, even _Crowley_ didn’t understand most of his decisions, and trying to apply logic and/or fact just made it that much worse.

Sure enough, additional solutions failed, and the invisible fairy was tortured a little more.

“Crowley, you’re suffering for absolutely no reason.” Aziraphale said finally and in a small, upset voice.

“Bugger that, there’s a reason.” His voice was a little more determined than it actually justified, but Crowley felt this type of topic deserved going in strong. Saying that, he wasn’t sure he had any further answers to that, mostly because Crowley had no idea how to even voice in words the main motivator for such a decision. ‘Because it’s yours’ sounded stupid enough to be derranged.

“... which is?” the angel prompted when his questioning expression failed to elicit a response.

“ Because I do.” Crowley replied as carelessly as he could and then pft-ed slightly as Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose in further questions. “Hey, it’s better than ‘um’, surely?”

“Only marginally.” Aziraphale replied carefully, cautious not to be critical but equally dissatisfied with the answer. Crowley pft’ed again, a soft dismissive noise that was almost a hiss, and felt this was a perfect time to switch subjects. Speaking of switching subjects, where the hell did those bottles of alcohol go? Casting a look around, he almost missed the sad little look coming the other way and only caught it because there was a bottle shaped shadow on the shelf behind Aziraphale’s head. Ack.

“No, no, no, angel, take that look of your face,” Crowley warned, although the nervousness made his demand significantly more of a plea. “I’m okay. I really am. Look, nothing’s falling off, I’m here, I like the throbby pain - okay, not quite enough that I’m gonna sit for the foreseeable future, but it’s good, it really is - and we’re still good friends. _Best_ friends, remember?”

A little, tiny smile. And his bloody heart could just stop right there with whatever sensations it was planning to do, it was deeply pathetic. Crowley ran his hand through his hair and caught sight of the absent alcohol bottle out of the corner of his eye. Ah! Well, it wasn’t a miracle cure but at least it was a suitable plaster, and he seized hold of this activity like a drowning man to a rubber ring. 

“Look, let’s just drink and work off some of those stresses, yeah?” It might have been a desperate grab at a solution but at least it was a plan, and there weren’t many of those around these days. Pouring a glass, Crowley leaned across with the intention of placing it carefully in front of Aziraphale when a little flinch from the angel caught his attention.

The demon hesitated, genuinely confused, before he began to piece things together. 

Flinching because their faces got a little too close? _Really?_ Well, that habit could fuck right off.

“Right,” Crowley said briskly as he put the glass in front of the angel and picked up his own bottle of vodka for morale support. “What’s going on?”

A miserable look that had an annoying air of permanency about it aimed itself at the glass. Crowley growled softly to himself and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers briefly before allowing his hand to fall away. Okay. New tact. He could never cope with Aziraphale’s upset look, it was a mix of beaten puppy and drowned kitten and someone who had found out that someone else had eaten the last chocolate rolo all mixed into one, and god he would do anything - uh, okay, most things - to get it off the other being’s face. That was the joy of Aziraphale, he was lightness and happiness and delight and all those words that rarely made it into Crowley’s universe without a Disney film playing in the background first. And now? Now the angel just looked like some bastard had just stolen his balloon. Fuck.

“Okay, okay, let’s start again.” Softer words, that was it. Kind. Gentle. Possibly not the slight sarcasm that was creeping in, but then Crowley did currently have a lot of painful things on his skin right now that really, really weren’t helping keep it out. “What, and I mean this most sweetly, the bloody hell is going on?”

Excellent. Full marks for effort. Satan, he was an idiot.

Aziraphale hunched a little further in his chair, his hands still on his lap rather than on the slim glass as they were clearly supposed to be. Crowley gave another sigh and opened his bottle to take a swig which seemed the most appropriate solution under the circumstances.

“I mean, I thought the whole thing went well,” Crowley continued finally, the bottle waved in a sweeping gesture as though this might illustrate it a little better.

“Oh, it did, it did,” a small little smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes. Ugh.

“We did the job, right?” Crowley kept up the winning, happy voice and god, this forced cheerfulness was going to kill him soon. 

“ Indeed, a wonderful display,”

“Got marks on my arse and everything, right?” Crowley gestured again with the bottle and almost hit himself in the leg with it. Another mouthful that went down like apathetic lava before Crowley placed it onto the table for everyone’s benefit and crouched by Aziraphale’s chair in what he hoped was a solemn, caring movement rather than one that suggested that his arse was currently on fire. The fact it felt like it was being merely coincidental. 

“I am very sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said finally and in a small, small voice. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Crowley hesitated. “For which bit? There’s a choice.”

“My behaviour.”

“Yeah, that’s still not narrowing it down,” the demon frowned at him, and then gently, oh so gently, gave the angel a gentle nudge in the arm in what he hoped was an affectionate way. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine, you’re fine, they’re fine, the dog’s fine-”

“What dog?” the angel was startled by the sudden introduction of stealth canines.

“That’s not the point, the point is everyone in the nearby area is absolutely and utterly fine and why are you giving me that look for?”

“But you’re _not_ fine, Crowley.” Aziraphale gave him a beseeching look that small baby rabbits could learn from. Jesus. Almost literally. “I got carried away.”

“This is about the kiss again, isn’t it?”

“Well, it wasn’t really a kiss.”

“Mouth touched skin. Kiss. Simple.”

“It was more a ..manoeuvre,”

“A manoeuvre,” Crowley repeated flatly. “What, like a military one? Am I going to be finding you dropping depth chargers in the bath or plotting to invade Europe? Cause you’re gonna need an up to date passport ….. Well, not the bathtub thing, you just need explosives for that.”

A small little smile crept onto the angel’s face before he remembered himself and looked down at the untouched glass again. Crowley sighed. Broke his grubby heart, that expression did. 

“So I don’t understand. You’re happy to hit me and you’re happy to touch me and burn things in my skin but you don’t want to actually kiss me, which arguably is the movement of love and happiness and all those things angels are supposed to like?”

“I’m an angel and you’re a demon, Crowley.” the words were misery incarnate. Crowley’s frown was heavy enough to enter world wrestling competitions.

“Are you stuck on some sort of repeat button or something? Yes, I know! What’s that got to do with the price of fish?”

“Well, I can justify the rest of it, you see.”

Crowley’s eyebrow rose in a firm statement that no, he didn’t quite see, and the conversation really needed to continue. Aziraphale clutched his hands together a little tighter, and looked as though he was about to recite some sort of manual.

“Angels are _supposed_ to strike down demons. To battle them. To fight the good fight. They never _really_ clarified whether it mattered if the demon rather quite liked it. But kissing-,”

“You mean the manoeuvre.” Crowley replied dryly.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. That,” Aziraphale winced slightly. “Well, _that_ is a little too spicy for heaven.”

Crowley chewed that over for a while. “So this is all some weird guilt semantics thing?” he frowned, then waved a finger just in case it might aid his argument. “You _liked_ it. You liked _me_ ”

“Well, I-,”

“Angel, if you produce any more wells you’re gonna have enough to save a couple of deserts from dehydration. You liked me. You did. You know you did. Hell, you _do_. And anyway I thought it was a sin to start lying.”

“Only to other people. For some reason lying yourself is fine.” Aziraphale clarified. “You know. No, I don’t want that extra cookie. Yes, I can climb that extra step. And .. well, you know, so on.”

“That’s reassuring.” Crowley folded his arms for a moment and then realised they could be better employed getting the bottle of spirits up to his mouth instead. Another swallow of ridiculously strong stuff, and the demon eyed him again. “It wasn’t even a _good_ kiss. C’mon, if you’re going to feel guilty you might as well do it for a better reason.”

For a moment that almost seemed to work. Aziraphale shifted position, a look of deep thought as he weighed the possibilities. And for a second, just for a second, Crowley thought the blunt assessment might have pushed the angel to his way of thinking. The hesitation crossing Aziraphale’s face was god near the same as the indecision that showed up whenever he had to pick between cakes at some fancy cafe place and Aziraphale held cakes in such a high regard that sheer delight shone through with every bite. Crowley often found himself watching the performance in rapt attention whenever it occurred.

Would he? _Would he?_

Turned out he wouldn’t. Just as Crowley thought there might be light at the end of the tunnel, something hit the mental process and the angel deperked, the weight of the suggestion hitting like a sledgehammer. The demon groaned. Shit, damn and buggeryfuck. Back to the drawing board.

“ But … but it’s _hard_ , Crowley.” the angel replied miserably.

“Hey, there’s a lot of things hard around here and not all of them are metaphorical.” the demon protested sulkily, then sighed at the angel’s bewildered expression. “Okay, okay, it’s probably for the best if you don’t try to understand that one,”

The bottle was swigged again which seemed like a very good idea to be doing right at this point. At least he had a bit of control over his body right at this point or the conversation would be even more awkward. Crowley waved the bottle once more in the manner of a marching band, rubbing the bridge of his nose again tiredly with the other hand

“So,” he said finally, “ if we’re going the traditional job route, aren’t angels essentially supposed to fuck over demons whenever possible?”

It took a little while for the implication to get through to Aziraphale’s expression but when it did it was well worth the comment. Shock shone in the angel’s eyes, which was deeply satisfying. 

“That is both utterly wrong and technically correct and you should be a little ashamed of yourself for thinking it.” Aziraphale chided with a flush in his cheeks, but it contained all the malice of a gummy bear. Crowley pfted again. 

“But that’s just it. It’s all language! You can get justification for damn near everything if you phrase it in the right way. You’re not kissing, you’re giving life saving mouth to mouth, no one needs to know the other person wasn’t drowning at the time. You’re not touching someone in a naughty way, you’re giving them a full body massage to help their whatsits to drain-,”

“Lymph nodes?”

“I was going with wallets, but yours works as well.” Another mouthful of drink. “You’re not looking at porn, you’re looking at some curious anthropolawhatever image of ritual something or other. I mean, how have you justified having sexual encounters so far?”

There was a long, long pause followed by another little pause just in case the first pause got lonely. Aziraphale carefully adjusted his position in his chair and looked in the general direction of Somewhere Else. Crowley’s bottle lowered incredulously. No. Surely not.

“Wait. I know you said you weren’t interested, but are you telling me that you’ve _never_ -”

“I never felt in the mood.” there was a wary look in Aziraphale’s eye, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. 

“In six thousand years? Not once?” Crowley’s immediate troubles were overtaken by his sheer fascination. “I mean, what about that baker you used to talk about who made the really flakey pastry? You couldn’t stop emphasising his cream. Over and over you used to talk about it. You’re telling me you were talking about _actual_ cream?”

The angel looked sheepish. “In my defence it was _excellent_ cream. And they had little chocolate sprinkles on the top, and you just couldn’t find the lightness in…” he trailed away, and tried to focus somewhere else.

“And when you looked really guilty all that time ago and said in a whisper that you’d lost your cherry, you’d _actually_....”

“Well, yes, that was an actual glacé cherry, because they’re sticky aren’t they, and it had slipped off my bun and down the back somewhere and those were real french renaissance chairs with some of the most glorious fabric at the back and I was worried it might have stuck-,” Aziraphale suddenly noticed the look he was getting and placed his hands back in his lap. “Ultimately, yes. Real cherry. Sorry.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows were up and they really weren’t planning to come down for a while.

“Wow,” his voice was soft and yet still held all levels of amazement within them. Aziraphale found a deeper level of uncomfortable and pursed his lips, looking down at his hands and still ignoring the glass of fizzy wine which Crowley found even more incomprehensible than the whole non-pleasures thing. 

“C’mon, there’s more joy to life than just a few books and a bag of doughnuts!”

“Really, _really_ good doughnuts, Crowley.” Aziraphale couldn’t help himself from the emphasis. 

“Okay,” Crowley’s voice switched to a slightly higher pitched, squeaky one. “ _Really, really good doughnuts._ ” Dropping it back down to normal, he leaned across and dinged! the glass with the edge of a fingernail as he gazed steadily at the other being. “I think you should try it. The sexual stuff, not more doughnuts. And that’s not just me being temptational or whatever you wanna call it. I do.” 

The demon hesitated but he was already in it up to his neck and even the most ardent of backtracking wouldn’t save him now. Bugger it, might as well continue.

“Do it with me,” Crowley urged softly. “ And if it doesn’t work for you then we just don’t mention it again, but you can’t go all this way through humanity without at least a _little_ taste.”

“That sounds remarkably like temptation, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was faintly reproving. Crowley shrugged, completely untroubled by this accusation.

“So what if it is? It’s not all bad, this temptation lark. How many creative geniuses have got where they are because they wanted to do it and sod everyone else, and not literally before you open your mouth.” A finger raised to halt the usual protest. Silence for a moment before Crowley lost his nerve and had to gently poke. “..so? What’s it to be?”

He waited and watched but there was nothing from the angel except an indecisive look. That wasn’t much help, truth be told; Aziraphale was indecisive at least twenty times a day at the best of times, and you could triple that if there was a selection of sweet desserts on offer. 

Still silence. Bit unnerving. Distinct lack of either objection or argument or even a bit of swearing, as Aziraphale was known for the odd - often very odd - curse of some bizarre description. Was that a good sign? Crowley didn’t entirely know, not least because he generally specialised in bad signs instead. Still, it was worth gently giving reality a little poke with a finger and see what fell out otherwise they were going to be there for days.

Had to do this carefully though. Crowley moved cautiously around the table as though Aziraphale was a terrified wild animal that had accidentally flown into a room and couldn’t get out again, and given the wary look he was getting it wasn’t too far off either. But the angel didn’t move from his chair, and Crowley was claiming that as a positive start.

The demon held out his hand and studied the angel seriously.

“C’mon. For us.”

“There is no us, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied softly, but his mouth was clearly on automatic pilot. Crowley kept his hand outstretched, silent, watching, waiting. The angel’s eyes moved from Crowley’s to his hand and then back up again and then bounced to Somewhere Random and then back at the hand and then Crowley again and then lightly away before back once more.

“How…,” Aziraphale’s voice faltered for a moment, before he coughed and forced it to return with a little more strength behind the words. “How will this work, exactly?”

“Uh… which bit? How to have sex? Because I might need to draw a diagram-,” Crowley looked around for a pencil.

“No, no, no,” Hands were waved in a slightly frantic manner. “No, I know the _mechanics_ , I do read Mills and Boon, you know.”

Mills and Boon books suddenly had a significant reputational boost in the depths of Crowley’s mind. Didn’t sound even remotely feasible but if that’s what encouraged the angel then he was all for it, heaving bosoms and all. He’d only read the one and had managed to muddle bosoms and bosuns in his head for a short time, thereby creating an unusual alternative tale for a ship’s officer. But he was digressing.

“Okay.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “So.. how does _what_ work?”

“Us.” Aziraphale looked decisive and a little .. not aggressive as such, but that type of bluntness that was being driven by sheer terror and the knowledge that any wavering would result utter and catastrophic failure. “Who’s who. Uh. Who takes the lead, as it were.”

The eyebrow remained upright for a moment as Crowley chewed that one over. Oh. _Oh._ / Oh. Shit. Good point. 

“Do you have a preference?” he asked carefully.

“I do.” There was no hesitation on those words, but sadly another pause joined them. Crowley sighed inwardly. Clearly they had the monopoly on good solid pauses, any more of this and they could sell them wholesale. Crowley waved his still outstretched hand slightly as the angel still hadn’t taken it and it might as well get some action in there somewhere.

“So?” The end was drawn out in question.

“Oh, I’m not going to tell you.” Aziraphale’s voice was almost incredulous, as though that would clearly be a most ridiculous thing to do.

Crowley resisted the urge to stare up at the ceiling in frustration. “Angel, this isn’t how this works.”

“No, I don’t want to _force_ you into anything, Crowley. You have injuries. It is your decision.” Aziraphale was still riding his little confidence-terror wave but this time he had a very determined look on his face. Crowley reviewed that comment and found it was at least a vaguely understandable position to take. Annoying as fuck, but understandable. The last thing you needed was uncertainty on where an ‘ow’ was being generated from.

“I think," Crowley advised slowly. ".. you should probably fuck over a demon.” 

“As in you on the ..,” a hand gestured low down guiltily and then darted back to his lap, eyes slightly shocked.

“Yes.” Crowley seized onto his patience with both hands and tried to strangle it into submission. Aziraphale bit his lip and then looked up again.

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes.” A bit of gritted teeth here.

“Are you _really_ sure-,”

“Angel, if you don’t stop this line of conversation we’re in danger of me committing mass genocide.” Bridge of nose was pinched again before Crowley released it, stepped forward a little bit and gave him a lopsided if slightly embarrassed smile. “Answer is yes. Just take it.”

“And you’ve been that position before, have you?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wider, still full of wonder and fascination and unable to stop saying words, and god - Satan, shit - he was going to explode through frustration any moment, he could feel it now. 

“Well, yeah. Ish. Mostly.” Crowley shrugged that one off.

“Mostly?!” 

“Well - enough.” Crowley hesitated. “It was a bit of a surprise at the time.”

“But planned?” Aziraphale was briefly appalled.

Ugh. “Could we move the conversation along a bit?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I _ompgff!_ ,”

Ompgff was thankfully not some type of new age relaxation technique but the sound that accompanied Crowley clearing the space between them and swiftly but gently lowering his mouth onto Aziraphale’s with the lightest amount of pressure between them. It was barely there but it was a kiss, a _proper_ kiss, feather light contact between them that needed a mere centimetre to stop. He knew it was risky but then so many of the really, _really_ good stuff was. Follow your dreams and all that rubbish, which was essentially just an attempt to justify seizing that temptation whilst being snappy enough for the average philosophical office poster.

And yet the angel didn’t pull away. Crowley bet Aziraphale wanted to, somewhere deep inside him, driven by centuries of internalised conscience. Guilt was often damned hard to break regardless of how ridiculous the original rules were, and sanity was no protection over such a raw sin. But regardless of any internal strife, regardless of emotional responses and terror and joy and all those random sentiments that were probably crashing around in him like a peculiar angel shaped version of lucky charms, Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away and shit, was that the lightest increase of pressure on his lips?

Bloody hell, it was. _It was_.

So delicate, just like the way that Aziraphale approached his beloved cakes and treats, his little cake fork gleaming in the light and cutting through with such surgical precision to get the very _best_ mouthful he could, and Crowley felt his angel adjust his position oh-so-slightly to gain better access to Crowley’s mouth. Okay, and that was it. All bets were off, seat belts were duly fastened, and if it wasn’t going to be a bumpy ride then quite clearly Mills and Boon had failed them badly.

Crowley’s hand moved to cup the back of the angel’s head, gently at first and then pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Not that Aziraphale needed much encouragement. The demon was almost taken aback to find the tip of the angel’s tongue tracing along his lips, Crowley opening his mouth slightly but with no real anticipation only to discover that once Aziraphale went for something he really went for it. The angel was a natural, his mouth pressed against Crowley in what was almost a possessive manner and Aziraphale’s hand shyly sliding around Crowley’s waist to pull him closer. The angel tasted of .. well, he had no idea what the hell he tasted of, but it was sweet and good and pure and if Starbucks could possibly distil it and serve it up as a coffee flavour then they’d surely add a few more millions to the already satisfactory bank account.

Crowley purred in his throat in satisfaction, his eyes closed as he drifted further into the kiss; he’d barely registered how close their bodies were in the disorientation but somewhere a little bit of his mind was making notes and he could already feel his body begin to respond to the almost forgotten stimuli in small, throbbing waves that were growing increasingly persistent. Bloody hell, how long had it been? He honestly couldn’t remember. Couple of events where he needed to get involved, a few places here and there and nearly - in fact, _all_ of it - work related. And here he was, finding his body three steps ahead of his mind and still marvelling over the simple act of a kiss.

They broke off after a few minutes, both breathless, bothered and staring at each other with the unsettled look of folk who had taken a step on a path with no return ticket. 

“Well. Um. That was _most_ pleasant,” Aziraphale’s hair was ever so slightly ruffled, his voice a strange chirpy mixture between happy and the cheerful apology announcement that every train station made, and that fascinated, delighted, _hungry_ look that Crowley reckoned would probably swallow him whole if they both let it. Well, it sounded a good idea at the time, but he was pretty sure that the angel wouldn’t want-

Said angel wasn’t finished.

“Crowley, would you mind _awfully_ if I were a little .. uh, forthright?”

Crowley blinked, uncertain what forthright translated into but was pretty sure he was well up for it.

“Uh, sure, why-,”

The ‘not’ part of the sentence was abandoned as Aziraphale gently but firmly propelled the demon backward, Crowley having to fight to stay upright as he suddenly found the backs of his legs pressed against the edge of the bed, and he managed to get out a soft yelp of surprise before Aziraphale took a hold of the collar that Crowley still wore and saved him from an untimely fall with a tiny bit of strangulation for that erotic kick. Okay, that last bit was probably unintentional but right at this point Crowley wasn’t sure what was true anymore.

Panting, the demon stared back at Aziraphale incredulously before Crowley gave a slow, wide, toothy - oh, the _toothiest_ \- grin and hooked the angel’s neck with a hand and pulled him into another kiss, albeit shorter and with more consideration to oxygen levels.

“I thought you said you weren’t good at this,” he gasped as they broke off again. Aziraphale gave him a reproachful look.

“I said I’d not done it before. I didn’t say i wasn’t any _good_ ”

What? How did that even work? Crowley looked bewildered for a moment before deciding to chalk that one up into ‘who gives a shit’ and went in for another kiss. Chocolate and sugar and goodness and honey and the faintest taste of wine, and Aziraphale was a meal in himself. Crowley growled softly under his breath and pulled the angel closer so that even the smallest of gaps was removed, merging together like an organic ying-yang with added limbs. Fuck, the ache was bad, an almost forgotten sensation, and Crowley hissed softly as he tried to control his immediate desire to simply spin them around, throw Aziraphale on the bed and do .. well, whatever came to mind. Take off those clothes for a start. 

Aziraphale for his part seemed possessed. A little frantic look in his eyes as though he was just about to miss the last train home, the angel seemed both anxious and exuberant in one delighted vibrating package. 

“Oh, my word,” Aziraphale’s voice was a little breathless, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes still screaming some type of erotic murder which Crowley could definitely get behind, or in front, or whichever particular position ended up being the Chosen One. “This _is_ rather invigorating”

There were many other words that Crowley could have chosen but again, this was being filed under ‘not giving a shit’ as long as happy things kept continuing to happen. 

“Oh, it can get better,” the demon’s voice had dropped a few octaves automatically, his voice breathless and low and with a hint of danger that even the Thunderbirds wouldn’t be able to resolve. “You want me to show you?”

Even now there was something forcing him to offer for Aziraphale’s overarching permission automatically and Crowley wasn’t entirely what that part of his mind was. Tradition, perhaps? Some weird psychological nod toward the purity of angels and his own fallen ranking? Or perhaps it was simply to discover what other perverted little secrets the angel hid in plain sight. Who knew. One thing he did know was that those clothes really, _really_ had to go.

“Oh, yes-,” the words were cut in half as ‘miraculously’ Aziraphale’s suit ended up neatly on a nearby chair with his tie hanging up innocently. A startled look went from chest to chair then chest again and then up at Crowley who was watching him with the most cheerful demonic grin that he possessed. Finally. _Finally_.

“You know,” Crowley drawled. “I’ve never actually seen you naked even after all these years. Even when we were in togas and things like that your clothes always stayed on.”

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height but allowed him a little small, faintly embarrassed smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with modesty, Crowley,” he rebuked him. Crowley pfted this.

“I’m about to show you what’s wrong with keeping your clothes on, Angel.” it was a tease but they were both there, toying with each other in the same way as they’d toyed over the centuries. Crowley’s gaze deliberately and slowly drifted down Aziraphale’s form, lingering in places as a soft purr vibrated in his throat before the demon’s gaze returned to meet the angel’s coming the other way. Said angel had a very determined look, now he came to think of it. 

Oh, this was _fun!_

“I thought I was the forthright one today,” Aziraphale’s voice was teasing and yet Crowley could detect a little sliver of iron through the words that took him aback. The angel wasn’t kidding either and Crowley found a little chuckle of delight escaping from his lips at that revelation. For whatever reason, for however long, there was a strength in the angel that managed to get past the anxious or the planning or the ‘Right Thing To Do’ (™) and what else had he been expecting if he was truthful with himself? The angel had been pretty much on his own as an independent agent throughout the centuries, _had given away his flaming sword_ , and no one could do that without a little bit of grit somewhere. The fact that said grit appeared to have a dominant streak in it was simply just icing to the cake.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t tease him further, of course.

“Snooze, you lose,” Crowley drawled with a lopsided, cheerful smile and that lop-sided, cheerful smile lasted all of three seconds before he suddenly found himself sprawled backward on the bed and fuck, his injuries were going to really .. 

…. Wait…

“Did you remove my marks?” he stared up at the angel in minor outrage.

“Temporarily. While we’re busy. Although I’m afraid I can’t remove the brand, that one appears to be a little stuck,” Aziraphale reassured him as he moved closer, and even now, without clothes, without any other distractions, the angel was still keeping his hands together in a prim and proper way and Crowley didn’t know whether that was adorable or frustrating or a bastard love child of the pair. On the other hand that didn’t matter right at this point as he was half way through a sulk.

“Hey, I _earned_ those marks, those are mine!” he protested. There was a soft noise from the angel that indicated that this information was agreed but ultimately immaterial at this current time. Crowley pouted a little more. Bloody angels. Removing injuries and pain without asking. Cheek, it was, in many ways. Crowley was just about to open his mouth to complain a little more when the words stopped dead in his throat and his body froze as Aziraphale slowly, carefully, with the precise delicate movements as he used with his beloved books, ran his fingertips from the peak of Crowley’s left nipple, down his chest and stomach and gently, tenderly, but with a look of childlike fascination, along the demon’s length.

“.....fuck....” it wasn’t so much a word as a squeak with added vowels.

“ Now I hope I’m doing this correctly,” Aziraphale had crouched between Crowley’s legs neatly, a look of intense concentration taking over his expression as his fingers continued to play an evil, beautiful, sensuous torture on the demon’s erection. Crowley bit his lip hard to keep himself quiet as Aziraphale’s perfectly manicured thumb slid over the tip and slowly, delicately followed every single point of pleasure and found a few new ones. Hell, was there some sort of Crowley manual he didn’t know about with every key vulnerability pointed out? 

“Still with me, Crowley?”

Oh, and he was asking questions just to punish him, Crowley could see that now. That innocent voice, so sweet, so gentle. Those careful, so utterly concerned eyes that suggested that all Aziraphale wanted to do was to go for an innocent little picnic in the middle of a park with some ducks and some squirrels and some geese if they weren’t planning to be bastards and -

_-oh dear religious icon of your choice-_

“Ugghhhhhh,” It was never going to win speech awards but Crowley felt it got to the crux of the matter, his head falling backward weakly as he felt the angel grip his member with a perfectly pressured grip and begin to stroke, cautious and careful at first but with a growing confidence that corresponded perfectly to the increase in both pressure and pleasure. 

“If you’re finding it hard to stay still I could always bind you to the bed,” Aziraphale suggested brightly. Crowley groaned weakly.

“..how very helpful of you..,” he managed before his words turned to mush again and he couldn’t think much further than his groin and the gentle but firm hand currently polishing it. Focus. Focus. Long way to go from here, and the demon cursed softly between gritted teeth as Aziraphale’s hand slipped lower to roll Crowley’s balls in his hand in a way that managed to be both indecent and completely and utterly innocent and that wasn’t even bloody possible-

Bugger, this was going to kill him.

After a few minutes that could have been hours or equally no time at all, Crowley recognised the fact that there was a slight hitch in the previously professional way that Aziraphale was touching him and opened his eyes a slit to look down at him. The angel hadn’t noticed, a look of deep concentration on his face and something that resembled indecision that fluttered in his eyes, and Crowley took the opportunity to simply appreciate the scene without worrying he was going to distress him by being surveyed. Still beautiful. Still innocent. Like a ray of sun across an open field, long grass bending in a light breeze and other stereotypical things, and it didn’t matter whether Aziraphale had wings or whether he was in a library reading or whether, as in this case, he was engaged in an act of dubious sexual activity, the innocent light of Aziraphale was always present even if he was leaning down to-

**_HOLY FUCKING SHIT_ **

He hadn’t been expecting to feel the angel’s mouth on his cock, in fact it was right up there on the ‘unlikely scenes’ list along with finding a parking space immediately in front of the building you actually want to go into, eggs that crack first time, and BMW drivers in the slow lane, but there it was and fuck, it was a good sensation. Crowley bit his lip so hard that it bled, the faintest taste of iron alongside the usual as he struggled to keep his voice and reactions under control. 

Needless to say, that was easier said than done. He could feel the cautious licks along the shaft, the little hopefully flickers of the tip of his tongue against the sensitive spots just under the rim before Aziraphale grew bolder and took the demon’s length deeper into his mouth. Crowley’s vision suddenly developed spots, the bite on his lip even harder to keep the noises under check. Wasn’t working. The angel’s speed increased, his skill increasing with his confidence, and the demon god-near blacked out when the angel’s hand started to caress his balls as the sucking continued.

Crowley had never really thought about how he might die but this was turning into quite a good contender. 

Aziraphale stopped at the point where the demon was struggling to remain still, his whimpers no longer possible to contain, and his body twitching more than even the floggers had made him. Panting, faintly disoriented, Crowley slowly opened his eyes again to see the angel smiling down at him, an obviously delighted expression on his face as though the demon was the best gift ever.

“Still with me?” The angel’s voice was playful.

“Ngh…,” Crowley’s head fell back against the mattress but he lifted his arm and gave a little circle with his wrist to indicate that life was still present. His heart was clearly trying to escape from his chest, his body was trembling and over-sensitive, and Crowley wasn’t sure he could trust his own tendons anymore, but yes, technically still with him and let nobody take mercy on him because this was all good.

His attention was caught as Aziraphale stood and moved closer, the angel licking his bottom lip nervously as he did so as yet another look of indecision flashed across his face. Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, opened it again, failed to find words and shut it again. Crowley watched this little performance for a few moments in interest before giving a breathless chuckle and pushing himself up. Okay. Clearly a bit of help was needed, and wasn’t that a friend’s duty?

His feet firmly back on the floor, Crowley gave Aziraphale a little wink before turning to face the bed and slowly, lazily, bending over with his hands neatly bracing against the mattress and a little dip in his back that deliberately showed off his arse to its best effect. He could see himself in the mirror, the brand showing up brightly against the paleness of his skin, and Crowley grinned to himself before settling into the position and waiting for Aziraphale to make his move.

And waited. And waited again and then a little more and fuck, this was killing his nerves. Sure, it wasn’t exactly virgin turf but neither had the other attempts been particularly pleasant experiences either, and Aziraphale wasn’t a small angel by any stretch of the imagination. Crowley waited until the anticipation was almost making him jump at any little noise before he glanced behind him, uncertain what he was going to find.

“You still okay?” Maybe Aziraphale had found his line in the sand. Maybe he had recoiled in horror. Maybe-

“I’m sorry. I was… I mean, I was contemplating on the best route to.. um… penetrate.” Aziraphale looked almost terrified by the prospect, lost and vulnerable. Crowley smiled back and began to push himself up when he found a hand apologetically on the small of his back and gently nudge him downwards again. Well okay. Hint taken.

“It’s okay, I can do this.” Aziraphale was almost talking more to himself than the demon at this stage, but Crowley decided to give the angel a break. Widening his legs a little for comfort, he lowered his head and waited silently for the decision. Probably the most obedient he was ever going to get, and there was no way this was ever going to get out to anyone else. Definitely a private matter, but for Aziraphale he was willing to risk his reputation.

The hand reappeared, resting lightly on the top of Crowley’s backside before slowly, carefully, moving downward. One finger gently traced along the crack, an almost timid scouting trip but one that made the breath catch in Crowley’s throat and his heart beat faster in his chest. C’mon, c’mon, just breathe. This was _nothing_. Everything would be good in the end, that’s what they always said and why shouldn’t a demon get his own fairy tales?

Well, fairy tales were definitely getting a whole new make-over. The finger slowly pushed a little deeper, still tracing along the line but slowly probing inwards toward its target. Crowley found his legs kicked a little further apart but he didn’t care about, he was just focused on the finger that had found the hidden tight hole and was slowly, carefully, flicking back and forth over the sensitive ring. Crowley’s long suffering lip took another injury.

“ _-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-_ ” it was like a little mantra, over and over, Crowley’s eyes closed and his body tense even as he tried to calm himself down. The finger’s movements didn’t falter, one tip balanced delicately on the hole before it slowly, purposefully, began to sink through the resisting tight ring and into the warmth of Crowley’s body.

The ‘fucks’ ended up as a long, soft hiss as Crowley’s forehead pressed against the mattress harder, willing himself to relax a little more to allow Aziraphale entrance. He could do this. _They_ could do this, and somewhere at the corner of his mind he recognised the fact that Aziraphale had somehow managed to miracle up some sort of lubricant to either his finger or directly in Crowley’s body which was bizarre but very, very welcome, and Crowley hissed again softly as the finger slowly, steadily began to move inside him. 

Bloody hell, he’d forgotten how weird this was. How _vulnerable_. And yet it was a strange type of pleasure, mixing with his still charged erection and imploring for more almost as hard as his body implored for a bit of mercy. And damn, they needed to get this on, and get it on _quicker_

“C’mon, angel,” his voice when he’d persuaded it to show up was still raw, but somehow that just made it all the better. “Let’s get this going, yeah?”

The finger hesitated before beginning to thrust in him again, and Crowley was about to add further encouragement to his words when another finger added to the first, stretching him further and reducing his general vocabulary to one syllable words and a whole lot of groan noises. The world turned into goo once again, Crowley’s back arching for a second before he forced himself to recover and went back to biting his lip. He really hoped his body had a guarantee on it, this was probably going to need some sort of spare part.

It didn’t take long before the fingers started to feel .. okay, normal wasn’t quite the word, but not as alien as they had a few minutes ago and that was really all he could ask for. Crowley felt himself ease into the movements and sigh-groaned softly. And then, almost as suddenly, they were gone.

“Are you ready?” Aziraphale’s voice, soft, concerned, sweet. Crowley had no doubt that the angel would stop dead if there was any hint of the demon changing his mind, but he wasn’t going to do that, not after all this time, not after everything, and for every part of him that was screaming that this was a fucking stupid idea there was just as loud part of him shouting back that it wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” Crowley drawled, his eyes still closed and a tremble in his arms from bracing for so long but giving a bit more attitude to his body posture. “Let’s do this.”

A pause. A bit more silence, but then what was a little bit more between friends. And the demon’s lip got bitten a little more as Crowley finally felt the tip press cautiously against him. Needless to say that was as far as it got, and there was a soft growl of frustration as the progress halted.

“What are you waiting for, a gilded invitation, glass of bucks fizz and a welcome doormat?” Crowley panted, and tried to push back against him stubbornly. Aziraphale made a tutting noise, his hands resting lightly but firmly on Crowley’s hip as he slowly, carefully, began to push.

For a moment, nothing much happened; Crowley tried to relax as much as he could but the muscle was pretty damned sure this was an ‘out’ door rather than an ‘in’ and was still vehemently out to all callers regardless of fingers or intent. But slowly, eventually, Crowley forced himself to relax, pushing out and finally feeling the angel breach the point of no return. This, understandably, generated a mix of feelings, mostly around the gratification and ‘oh, bloody hell, _ouch_ ’ school of thought. The ouch wasn’t a _bad_ ouch, per say, but it was a burning, insistent, _filling_ sensation that hit multiple instinctive reactions at the same time. Try as he might he couldn’t stop the yelp-gasp from escaping and his hands clawed the bedding frantically, almost as something to do. Okay, possibly could have done with a bit more stretching and Crowley was ashamed to hear a whimper escape his lips as Aziraphale slowly settled further in him, and furiously told himself he’d just pretend it was some sort of casual gasp.

For a little while they remained like that, angel sheathed firmly in demon whose head was lowered and his fingers clenched into the bedsheet and his body tense and uncertain and under the tightest control outside of nuclear power stations. And then slowly… slowly…. 

Crowley let out a long, shaky gasp, and this one actually was leaning on the casual side, a low, soft sound of intensity and contentment. His breath grew easier and his body didn’t feel quite so outraged, nor quite so much like the world’s most bizarre alternative puppet show. He raised his head a little more to signal he was okay, which felt like a good thing to do, indicating silently that everything was tickety-boo or spiffing or whatever the phrase of the week was and waiting to see what happened next. 

What happened next, of course, was the opening of the dam, or the damned in this case; Aziraphale’s hands tightened on Crowley’s hips as the angel began to move, carefully at first and then with a growing and urgent need that was so very noticable. Intensity suddenly discovered that it had a whole new level to explore and Crowley very wisely stopped caring about his image and allowed his groans and cries to escape, weak at first but with growing vigour as the angel continued to thrust. 

_-Fuck. Shit. God. Yes. More. Ow. Fuck. Bugger. Shit. Yes-_

Time began to lose even more meaning than it had before. He had no idea how long it was before Aziraphale began to slow, Crowley only dropping out of his daze when he became aware of a deep shudder slowly working its way through the angel. A weak, crooked but genuine smile flickered onto Crowley’s mouth. Ah, now that timetable he could recognise. Still, seemed impolite to let the angel get to a destination by himself, everyone needed company

The demon balanced himself on one hand, reaching between his legs to stroke himself in time, his groans turning hungry as he raced the angel to the edge. It wasn’t the most graceful of acts but neither of them cared or noticed, the purpose and sensation overruling the aesthetics. Aziraphale shifted angle and one hard stroke had Crowley almost howling as the angel accidentally - or intentionally, who the bloody hell knew anymore - hit a ridiculously intensive spot inside him and sensation burst through him like a really lost firework. He began to mouth a curse, didn’t care what as long as the sentiment was expressed and willing to work with the fact his vocal chords were pretty much on strike, only to suddenly find his body tightening with a power Crowley didn’t even realised it possessed.

Vocal chords interrupted their strike for an essential political broadcast.

“Oh _shit_ -”

Oh yeah, there was no way that he was going to stop that wave from breaking, and there was no way he even wanted to try either. Crowley’s back arched, a whimper forced out his throat as his body shuddered, teetered, did something else that he couldn’t describe, and then came hard with enough force that for a moment he thought he’d gone blind but instead had almost gone head first into the mattress. Behind him he could hear Aziraphale’s gasp, some type of words that he couldn’t quite make out as Crowley’s body clamped down on the angel and forced him into a very swift and efficient orgasm of his own.

_And on the seventh day god rested.._

To be fair to God, it was a damned good idea and one that they were both happy to adopt. 

For a little while everything grew still and silent other than the soft, fast rasps of their breathing and the sound of his heartbeat in Crowley’s ears. Aziraphale’s hands still lay on Crowley’s hips, aches pointing out the fact new marks had been added to the demon’s skin where in his enthusiasm the angel had accidentally pressed his nails into the smoothness, and the angel’s length still buried deep inside his body. It sounded both weird and messy, which he guessed it was, but still felt strangely right. Slowly and finally Aziraphale withdrew, stumbling a little before slowly moving back to the bed and sinking to sit next to the still prone Crowley.

“Well,” Crowley’s voice was muffled from the mattress. “That was definitely a thing.”

He allowed another few moments just to remind his bones they were supposed to be solid rather than some weird jelly substance before Crowley rolled himself over onto his back and briefly stared at the ceiling. His arse ached _again_ , but this was a really good ache, one that still felt slightly electrifying, and he sighed softly in contentment before giving the quiet angel a quick side glance uncertainly. Still no noise. Was that good? Was there some type of angel vow of silence after orgasming? Could be anything.

“Well?” the demon couldn’t quite keep the concern from his voice although he tried to keep it as casual as possible just in case. Heartbeat stepped up the pace a bit. “Do you approve?”

For a heartbeat there was still no reaction and then finally, _finally_ the warm smile turned to him and Crowley was damned near ready to send a thank you note to whichever god was giving him a hand. Chuckling in relief, the demon allowed his head to fall back on the mattress once again as he felt Aziraphale move into a better position beside him, the angel’s hand cautiously resting on Crowley’s stomach as though his body might suddenly become off-limits as soon as orgasm was reached. 

“Approval granted,” 

“Thank fuck for that.” 

A little pause, and a little apologetic. “Although I may possibly be both a little dirty and a little sticky,”

“Oh, welcome to my world,” Crowley drawled in faint amusement. 

A companionable silence fell once again, both happy in their closeness as they looked up at the ceiling. It needed a new coat of paint but right at this point no cracks could have looked quite as glorious as they did right at that moment.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice finally broke the silence after a while, a soft, thoughtful noise that was almost as though things were back to normal despite the fact that they were both still mostly nude. Crowley made a little ‘mmm’ noise to indicate that he was, indeed, awake and listening, although possibly not entirely verbal. Couldn’t have everything in life, where would you put it even if you had?

“That previous problem you had…,” Aziraphale was testing his words carefully. “.. it wasn’t from that Thingie at Brownfield Library, was it, around the 1940s? You were acting _remarkably_ strange at that point.”

Crowley huffed a laugh, his eyes still closed. Oh. That. Yeah, he remembered that. He was faintly amazed that Aziraphale did, but then he guessed it had been .. well, odd. And may he never have to do that Brownfield Library thing again.

“Nah. Different thing.” And a pretty damned scary thing as far as he was concerned, but that was yet another thing on his ‘never to admit’ list. But weird strange shit in libraries wasn’t on his plan to think about just yet. Crowley gently rested his hand on Aziraphale’s and gently gave it a squeeze, hoping to get his mind back on the task in hand. No, now was a time to relax and to luxuriate and to enjoy before the rest of the world got in the way. However, the angel was still his usual curious self and clearly either never got the memo or was happy to ignore it.

“Would you tell me about it?”

“Ah, sweetheart, this isn’t the time.” The corner of Crowley’s mouth curled upwards lazily as he closed his eyes and was satisfied to feel the angel relax even more against him. “And besides which - it’s a whole another tale.”

*

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: Thank you so much for all your kind comments and kudos, this is the first fic I've written after a five year break (previous name of 'Foofy' if anyone's familiar with the LOTR slash ones) and it's been a lot of fun :)


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